Bandages
by bandagesisfinished
Summary: VIIVIII Sephiroth is not a mess easily cleaned up. In their Garden, the SeeDs find themselves with two new problems on their hands: a psychotic, silver haired mass murderer, and Cloud Strife, determined to finish what Jenova started.
1. It's like a plot, only not

**This chapter has been rewritten since the original submission of Bandages!**

Disclaimer: The worlds of Final Fantasy VII and VIII do not belong to me, and I am seeking no profit. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox, because my kindergarten teacher always taught me that sharing is caring.

Warnings: Language, violence, crossovers, homosexuality, heterosexuality, psychological mucking about, rated R/M

Canon Timeline: Bandages began before Advent Children was released, and is based entirely off of game canon. A few bits and pieces - Cloud's motorcycle, for instance - have been borrowed from the compilation, as little filler pieces, but nothing else is taken into consideration. Also takes places after the end of FFVIII, but there's no sequels there to muck about with things.

•••

The air was thick with the smell of old smog and new construction, the hum of the living drifting over from the sectors that were finally fit for human occupation. Cloud sat on an indefinable lump of steel, his sword stuck in the ground beside him, and gnawed doggedly on an energy bar. It escaped him utterly why the one constant in life was the inability of protein bars to taste like anything other than reconstituted lumps of clay.

He was doing a favor to Reeve, cleaning up the parts of Midgar that were still choked with monsters. No one could rebuild until it was safe, and Cloud was the most reliable exterminator in these circumstances. It was tiring and somewhat monotonous work, but he was glad to do it. It gave him a sense of purpose, of a sort. Today had been made slightly more exciting than usual with Vincent's presence – as far as Vincent could be defined as 'exciting'. But Cloud was grateful for both the help and the company.

It was also nice to know that Vincent was still alive and well, considering his tendency to disappear for weeks on end.

"Where will you be staying?" Cloud asked, around his last bite of energy bar.

"Cid ran a supply delivery into the city this morning; he's agreed to pick me up on the way home." Vincent canted his head to the side slightly. "Do you need a lift?"

Vincent was perched with his usual queer grace on a piece of steel that jutted out from a half twisted structure. In concession to the summer heat he'd scrapped his hair up into a high ponytail, a gesture which seemed futile considering he was still wearing his cape.

"No, I've got Fenrir," Cloud said.

He enjoyed the rides to and from Kalm immensely, a relaxing break from his work. It was the only time he allowed himself to relax. He lived above Tifa's restaurant in Kalm, and sitting still made him restless. Usually, he ended up waiting tables or helping out in the kitchen to keep his hands and mind occupied. Tifa wished he would allow himself some rest, he knew, but if he left his mind alone too long it had a tendency to get up and wander away.

"Cid's asked me to come up to Rocket Town," Cloud continued, "so if you stick around for a few days you'll see me then."

Vincent nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

Cloud ran his fingers down the steel underneath him, the grime and the grit coming off onto his already dirty skin. "Do you think we'll ever get this done?"

"Cleaning up this city? The apocalypse has already come and gone, and it's time for the world to rise again."

That was optimistic, in a Vincent Valentine sort of way. Cloud nodded his agreement and summoned up a smile for Vincent.

"I'm going to start cleaning out Sector Five next week."

Vincent turned his attention toward the horizon. "You've left it for last."

"I don't really –"

He didn't want to look, to see if her church still stood among the wreckage of the sector. He didn't want to know if her flowers still bloomed, tiny little white and yellow miracles among fire and poison. There was a part of him that still loved her, deeply and almost desperately. Awhile ago, he'd come to terms with the fact that those feelings were probably because of Zack; it didn't mean he felt them any less.

_It was hard not to love her, _something informed him, almost wistfully.

Cloud had come to terms with the fact that _that _was probably Zack, as well. Other people might have been more worried about dead people showing up to give a running mental commentary, but it was the least of the strange things Cloud had encountered. Zack-in-his-head wasn't trying to convince him to hurt himself or others, and was in fact quite encouraging. Cloud didn't mind having him.

"I could take care of it for you," Vincent offered, his voice soft.

Cloud shook his head. "No, no it's alright. I think I need to do it myself."

"I understand."

The best thing was, he did, fully and completely. Cloud counted himself lucky that he was surrounded by people capable of _understanding. _It was a support structure he might have self destructed without, from boredom if not from insanity.

Cloud's cell phone rang, and he slipped it out of his pocket. Cid would probably kill Cloud if he ever figured out that his ring tone was a cheerful little pop ditty that Marlene had put on there, and replaced every time Cloud tried to change it. When that day came, Cloud knew he would not be above putting the blame on the ten year old; Cid would have mercy on her.

Flipping the phone open, Cloud tucked it against his shoulder. "Hello?"

"You got Vincent with you?"

"Looking right at him."

Vincent raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Cloud mouthed 'Cid'. Vincent flipped his hand in a 'go on' gesture.

"Tell him I'll be flying over soon. I'm late, but Shinra hasn't magically developed a sense of 'on time' since I last dealt with the bastards."

Cloud knew what he meant; Reeve could be counted on to answer his phone and make his appointments, but with everyone else it was hit and miss. Even if you did want to talk to the Turks, for some reason, you were better off sending up smoke signals than trying to get Reno to pick up his phone.

"The builders appreciate the supplies," Cloud said, instead of backing up Cid's tirade.

"They're rude mother fuckers too. It's like they never heard that you need _money _to _buy things. _I blow their fucking minds because I can _count_."

"I'm hanging up now."

"What the hell are –"

Cloud flipped his phone shut and tucked it back into his pocket. "He'll be here soon."

Vincent may or may not have smiled, then surprised Cloud by inviting a new topic of conversation.

"How are things in Kalm?"

"Quiet," Cloud said, considering his words almost too carefully. "Peaceful. That place lives up to its name."

"And yet, you're not happy?"

"I'm content," Cloud hedged. "Tifa takes good care of me."

Content wasn't the same thing as happy. Vincent knew it, Tifa knew it. She did everything in her power to make sure that he had a place to stay, a person to talk to, and a job to do, but she knew there was something a little bit off inside of him that she couldn't fix. It was entirely probable that no one could fix it. Cloud wanted to be whole for her, he really did, and it drove the both of them mad at times.

Cloud considered himself lucky that she hadn't delivered a swift and literal kick to his head yet. He felt he deserved one.

"Give it time," Vincent said. "Maybe that's all anyone needs, a little time."

Cloud refrained from asking Vincent how much time _he _needed. A rumble from overhead cut off the need for further deep soul searching.

"That's the Highwind," Cloud said, rather unnecessarily. "I'll see you guys in a few days."

Vincent stood up on his steel bar and inclined his head just slightly toward Cloud, the most austere goodbye anyone could manage. Cloud gave a little two fingered salute and left him watching the sky.

Fenrir was parked at the edge of the rubble, far enough away from the ravaged city that it was unlikely that any stray bits and pieces were going to fall on her. Cloud had nearly lost a good gas tank to careless parking once, and that had taught him his lesson. A helmet provided no protection his own skull didn't, but he wore goggles to keep the dirt out of his eyes.

It was a fairly long drive from Midgar to Kalm, but the faded, barren dirt giving away to lush grassland was a relief and as close to a spiritual uplift as Cloud ever got. He slowed down once he entered town, and parked in the back of Final Heaven, Tifa's restaurant. She greeted him at the backdoor with a bottle of water, her braided hair and stained apron declaring that she was on chef's duty today. Tifa could, and did, do anything in the restaurant that was called for.

"How was it today?"

"Better," Cloud answered once he was done greedily gulping back the water. "We're almost done. I think Sector Five is going to be pretty bad, though."

"I'll help."

Tifa had been just as close to Aeris as Cloud had.

"I'd appreciate it."

She rewarded him with a smile that made him feel guilty for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Don't think it's for free. Vanozza called in sick and I need an extra waiter for the dinner shift. You can take a nap first and I'll feed you for free."

"You always feed me for free," Cloud pointed out. "But I'll do it anyway."

He didn't really know what 'happy' meant anyway. Who needed it?

•••

Customer service was not Cloud's forte. People left him feeling drained, exhausted, and confused, even when he had a written script to follow. Inevitably, one of the customers decided they didn't want to peacefully follow the predictable lines of human interaction, and Cloud had to figure out just how one was supposed to respond. It was a favor for Tifa, though, so he put up with it without pointing out to anyone that he could kill them with one hand.

They usually shut up once they saw the mako glow in his eyes, but that just left him feeling even worse.

He flipped the last chair up onto the last table, and nodded politely to Becky as she mopped the floor. Tifa employed good people, and they'd gotten used to Cloud coming and going. Considering he lived upstairs, they had to.

"Reeve called," Tifa said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she walked out of the kitchen. "He wanted to remind you about the meeting in Junon in a few days."

Cloud tried not to look like he'd rather impale himself on a chair leg than go to the damn meeting. Reeve was thoroughly capable of being a great guy, but he was also Shinra in his bones, and certain business practices made Cloud's skin crawl. The skeleton of the company was the only way the world was going to get energy and order back, however, so they allowed Reeve some free reign.

Reeve knew what was in for him the minute he stepped out of line, after all. The rubble of the former Shinra Tower was a warning hard to ignore.

"I remember it."

"I'll pack a bag." She held up a hand when Cloud opened his mouth to object. "I'm going with you, and that's the end of it."

"Tifa," he managed.

He'd been looking forward to a long trip alone, the time to think. Others said it made him melancholy, but it cleared his mind. Spending too much time in the company of others made him feel all muddled.

_You always did need your days off._

"Who's going to look after the restaurant?" Cloud asked, trying not to cross his arms over his chest.

"Becky can," Tifa said. "She knows everything that needs to be done."

Becky, still mopping, very studiously ignored them.

"Fine." Cloud tugged on his bangs in exasperation. "You can ride on the back of Fenrir. Get your bag packed."

He didn't give her time to reply before he spun on his heel and slid past Tifa into the kitchen and toward the stairs that led to his apartment. He closed the stair door behind him, a clear and respected signal that he wanted to be left alone; that, at least, she saw and understood.

His room looked like it belonged to no one in particular. Tifa had picked out the furniture to be affordable and functional, and the only personal touches Cloud had added were the clothes in the wardrobe and the weapons on the wall. He could have moved all of things out in under an hour. Something incomprehensible held him back from making the small, comfortable apartment really _his_.

Going through the motions of packing and tidying up his bedroom calmed his irritation somewhat, and he'd be able to face Tifa without frustration in the morning. He filled the duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and an extra cure materia, then kicked it into a corner and stripped down for bed.

If he was going to go a few extra days without any real time for himself, he wouldn't skimp on sleep. It would just make him irritable. The sheets were soft and clean, and he was nearly asleep by the time he situated himself.

_No dreams tonight_, Zack said. _Especially not bad ones._

Cloud agreed.

•••

"So, did the kid look a little bit off to you too?"

Vincent looked up from reassembling the Death Penalty, not expecting the question that broke the companionable silence. It wasn't often that he got Cid to sit down and shut up, so he'd been enjoying it while it lasted. Not that he didn't like Cid talking; it was just nice to know that even the nefariously verbal Captain Highwind had an off switch.

"It's hard to read Cloud's moods," Vincent hedged, somewhat curious as to where Cid was going.

Cid snorted. "The hell it is. He's either happy, droopy, or completely batshit."

"Droopy?"

"Droopy," Cid said, making a vague hand gesture.

"Hn."

"You're a big fuck-ton of help, you know that?"

Cid was seated backward in one of the chairs in the Highwind's 'conference room', tinkering idly with what might have been a personal computer once upon a time. The hard drive and its casing were on the table in front of him, but some of the guts had been thrown clear across the room. Vincent didn't even pretend to know if they had been vital computer guts or not.

"I'm simply saying that we may not know him well enough to gauge." Vincent clicked the last part into place and examined his gun. "We've never really known him outside of a crisis."

"You're trying to tell me that his natural state of being is staring off into space like an asstard?"

At least being around Cid this much got Vincent used to all of the quaint modern colloquialisms, even the ones he strongly suspected Cid had just made up on the spot. 'Asstard' was definitely going into the file of things Vincent knew he'd never hear anyone but Cid Highwind say.

"He does seem a little distracted," Vincent allowed.

"The last time I delivered supplies to Kalm I had to yell in his ear for five minutes before he even realized I was standing close enough to knee him in the junk."

Vincent's head shot up and he regarded Cid with no minor amount of incredulity.

"I wouldn't have kneed the kid in the junk," Cid snapped. "But it's the principle of the thing. A lot of good super soldier voodoo reflexes do his stupid ass when he's standing around like a cow chewing cud and looking about as intelligent."

"You're worried about him."

Cid sighed and slumped over slightly, elbows on the table. "A bit, ya. There's a lot of wacky people out there, and not everybody hears 'Cloud Strife' and thinks about how much they'd love to kiss his ass. Unless we handcuff him to Tifa or something, he's going to get a knife to the back one of these days."

"And people accuse me of being cynical," Vincent said.

"'Cause you are. You're just cynical on a fucking grand scale."

"I aim high," Vincent drawled. "Look, just take it up with Cloud when he comes to Rocket Town. If he's as distracted as he seems, he'll be in no condition to lie to anyone. If all else fails we can give Barret a call; Cloud's usually honest with him."

Cid grunted. He and Barret didn't generally get along – too much explosive temper and alpha male ego in the same room – but Cid knew very well that Cloud and Barret were part of the same bizarre extended family. It was telling that Marlene knew Cloud as her uncle, and Barret wouldn't mind terribly scaring some sense into anyone he saw as his blood.

"Maybe Cloud just needs a good fuck," Cid mused.

Vincent declined to comment.

•••

Honestly, Cloud had no idea what Reeve was going on about. It involved hydroelectricity and windmills and solar panels, which Cloud could follow on a surface level. When he started into refining oil for energy plants, Cloud only spoke up to add in his opinion about how dangerous drawing something from the Planet sounded, considering the problems mako extraction had caused. Reeve was an engineer, Cloud was not; it was that simple.

Cloud, and in extension Tifa, was there to soothe the fears of the public. From what little the world knew of the story, the name Cloud Strife added a sort of legitimacy to the rebuilding of Shinra. It mattered little that most of the planet didn't know what he looked like.

The remaining Turks were in attendance, mostly to look intimidating and communicate to the new scientists that doing immoral Hojo-esque things would result in an inconvenient kneecapping. Only Elena was making an attempt to pay attention, though most of her awareness was kept on Reno. She glared at him over her coffee cup with that look that promised pain. Reno was completely unmoved.

"It's going to be difficult to meet the energy demands, especially for the rebuilding of Midgar," Reeve said, shuffling through a stack of papers.

One of the scientists hesitantly raised his hand, as if he wasn't sure he'd actually left primary school. Reeve stared at him, unsure of the proper response. Rude took care of the problem.

"They can do without," he said.

The scientist's hand dropped back down to the table. Reno snickered.

Cloud fidgeted with irritation. Tifa dropped a hand to his thigh in a reassuring gesture, but he scooted his chair away from the human contact. Her look was half bemusement, half hurt; Cloud was more or less usually okay with touch, light contact and hugs, unless he was in a weird, indrawn mood. Right now, he just didn't want to be…anchored, reminded of his presence inside this annoying, weird little meeting.

Maybe that was a feeling to be a little more worried about.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the people in the meeting room, Tifa was giving Cloud a look that made him want to crawl under the table and hide. It was that 'you need to talk to me' look that she'd perfected over the year they'd been living in relatively close quarters. It meant that she'd finally reached the limits of her patience and was going to start prying 'for his own good'.

Cloud didn't himself didn't know the cause for his restlessness lately, his disconnection from his surroundings. His mind had been wandering off lately, and even Marlene had been able to sneak up on him once or twice in the past few months. When a ten year old got the better of a mako enhanced pseudo-Soldier, something was definitely a bit off. Cloud was resolutely ignoring the whole thing.

_You should talk to Tifa about it. She might be able to help._

Certainly, the last time Cloud had been lost in his own head Tifa had been there to yank him out, but he didn't think this was a problem on quite the same scale. He wasn't ready to take an accidental dip in the lifestream and mentally self destruct, he was just distracted.

_She loves you._

He knew that; he wasn't so emotionally deficient that he hadn't picked up on the signals she was sending. Mostly, he'd also responded to that by ignoring it. If no one acknowledged it, neither of them would have to talk about it. He loved Tifa – with the fond, protective affection of a brother. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, especially because of something he couldn't control.

"Strife!" Elena snapped, her cheerful demeanor well and truly eroded. "Pay attention!"

Everyone was looking him in that expectant way that meant he'd been asked a question and was supposed to have a coherent answer. Elena did not look in the mood to repeat anything.

"Yes," he tried, banking on a fifty-fifty chance. He was met with blank stares. "No?"

Elena dropped her forehead to her palm. "It wasn't a yes or no question."

Cloud shrugged, too far from caring to pretend that he was actually contrite. Elena lifted her head to glower at him, looking very much like she wanted to leap across the table and throttle him to death. The other Turks would probably help her out, out of a sense of solidarity.

Thankfully, Reeve was feeling diplomatic. "I think we're all a little tired," he said. "And Mr. Strife and Miss Lockheart have done their part here, and have other jobs to get on to."

Tifa was smiling in gracious agreement. "Thank you, Reeve."

Cloud knew that any attempts on his part to look gracious would fail miserably, so he just clamped down on the urge to cheer. He even left the room at a fairly sedate pace.

•••

Hours and a few dimensions away, Squall Leonhart was handling his own dreadfully boring board meeting with something approaching decorum and patience. Years of training for stake-outs and months of personal exercise kept him awake and the expression on his face relatively mild. The man he'd been a year or two ago would have walked out by now, completely unconcerned with how it would look.

Social consciousness had come with a few irritating rules.

Zell wasn't socially stunted, but he was marvelously oblivious. He wasn't even making an attempt to look as if he was paying attention to Headmaster Cid and the budget reports; instead, he'd taken a kitten interest in the ceiling fan, and could not be deterred from kicking his chair around in a circle in an attempt to follow the blades. Everyone had an entertaining five minutes either trying to get his attention or making mental bets on how long it would take him to get sick to his stomach, but Quistis brought it to an abrupt halt by grabbing the back of his chair and glaring him into submission.

The monotony, slightly miffed at being interrupted, started up again with a vengeance and looked to settle in for the next hour or two, at least.

Selphie and Irvine had joined forces in an attempt to make the longest paperclip chain in the universe, and kept summoning them from places unknown. Squall strongly suspected he'd find his own office curiously devoid of paperclips, later, and made a note of where he could hunt them down.

The meeting had already covered some backwater province's request for monetary aid (denied, as Garden was not a charity organization in the least), Trabia Garden's polite demand for instructors (readily given, as Balamb had extra staff anyway), and Timber's latest declaration of independence (Squall wondered how long _this _one would last, considering the record was two months). The only thing Squall could say for the whole process was that the bureaucracy had been cut out and most of the decisions were left up to Headmaster Cid and 'Commander Leonhart'. Squall delegated to his companions a lot, especially Quistis, because he trusted them almost unconditionally.

"I think that the last order of business would be the recent attacks on Galbadia," Cid said, and waited a moment for everyone's newly roused attention to return to him. "No one has any idea where these attacks are originating from, but the invading force is uncompromising and unmerciful."

"SeeDs?" Squall asked, unable to think of any other force in the rather decimated country that could fit the description 'uncompromising'. Galbadia Garden could be lashing out, or some of the mercenaries could have gone rogue – it had happened before, and been dealt with swiftly and decisively.

Cid shook his head. "No one has reported any deserters, and these attacks go beyond the capabilities of even a SeeD. I'm loathe to use the phrase 'superhuman', but that's what the few survivors are saying."

"Few survivors?" Quistis echoed.

"A few women and children, oddly enough they're mostly mothers with sons. We can't figure out a pattern to it, all we know is they escaped the mass slaughter that's been hitting the small towns in southern Galbadia."

"What do they say's doing it?" Irvine asked, his curiosity finally piqued.

"One man." Cid shrugged almost helplessly in the face of their disbelieving gazes. "I thought it was a bit far fetched myself, but…well, we're in no position to tell the survivors that. I don't want them anymore upset than they already are, and understandably."

"Do we have a description?" Squall asked.

"We do," Cid said, and then hesitated for a long moment. "We do, but I don't think it'll be much help. They all described, without variation, a very tall man, with long silver hair and glowing green eyes. And they all stressed 'glowing' in the literal sense, especially the ones that came out of the night attack alive."

Irvine scoffed. "Sounds like a hallucination to me."

"But for people to have the same hallucination under different circumstances, at different times and different places – the chances of that are nearly astronomical."

Trust Quistis to be the voice of slightly disconcerting reason.

"Might be magic," Squall suggested. "A Guardian Force or a spell we haven't catalogued before now."

Maybe he was just a bit paranoid when it came to magic in its entirety, but he could safely blame that on having to fight the sorceress. Nobody wanted the world mired in that problem again, especially not so soon afterward. If it were someone mucking around with unfamiliar spells, Squall would go out and handle it himself.

"Not as far as we can tell," Cid said. "But it may very well be. No official police or military forces have seen this attacker, and thus no one's had the chance to run a scan on him, magical or otherwise."

Squall considered things for a moment. "Has anyone filed an official report for Balamb Garden's aid?"

"No. I just want you to be aware of it if the problem spreads."

"If it spreads, we'll look into it further. It's Galbadia Garden's problem, right now."

That was a hard decision to make, but Balamb Garden wasn't so well off that they could send SeeDs chasing off after invisible killer phantoms. Something with that much destructive power would probably call for only the best team, and as things stood Squall wasn't prepared to send that team – _his _team – beyond his reach when he might need them. A few reconstructed governments had seen beyond the shine of SeeDs saving the world, and were beginning to question the mercenary force's continued existence. There was enough to handle over here without picking up Galbadia's slack.

Cid nodded toward Squall. "If that's your decision, I have nothing else to say. No other reports have come in, and the students haven't blown anything important up in at least a month."

Squall didn't envy Cid his position as Headmaster and lead diplomatic go-between, but he wasn't about to volunteer to take up either job. Twelve year olds and politicians existed on about the same plane of annoying irritation in Squall's reckoning of things.

"Dismissed," Squall said, waving his hand slightly.

He stayed behind in his seat for a moment to avoid the inevitable lunge toward the door, and Irvine and Zell's minor slap fight as they tried to be the first one out of the meeting room. Quistis met Squall's gaze and rolled her eyes, but her smile was affectionate and he managed and approximation of the same in return.

When Squall finally gathered up his Very Important Paperwork and left the room, Rinoa was waiting for him. She took the papers out of his possession and tucked them under one arm, lacing the fingers of her free hand through Squall's.

"I got a call from Zone and Watts today," she said, without any other preamble. "They really think this declaration is going to stick. Some of the mistakes made in the last one have been ironed out."

Squall didn't quite manage not to think anything disparaging. "That's good," he said, instead of voicing those thoughts.

"It would really help if they had a little more money," Rinoa pointed out, ostensibly for no particular reason, but Squall knew better.

"We don't have the extra funds."

"Headmaster Cid said –"

"Cid doesn't control the treasury." Squall tried very, very hard to keep his voice out of the territory of 'icy'.

Rinoa sighed, and then switched tactics. "I was wondering, then, if you could ask your father –"

Squall briefly considered pulling his hand away from Rinoa's. "I'm not asking Laguna for any favors."

"Squall…"

"I don't want to argue about this." He squeezed her fingers gently instead. "We'll discuss it later."

He would very conveniently forget to pencil that discussion into his social calendar.


	2. Cloud! Now with Nervous Breakdown Action

**This chapter has been rewritten since the original posting of Bandages! **

•••

When Cid less than surreptitiously offered his pack of cigarettes, Cloud found himself taking one. Leave it up to Cid, in one of his weird moments of observation, to catalog everyone else's smoking habits. Over the course of their 'adventure', Cloud had only smoked once, maybe twice, and both of those forays into nicotine had been brought about by stress and desperation. Sadly, the mako made sure that cigarettes didn't have much of an effect on him these days, but the psychosomatic comfort was enough.

"Ya, you're all sorts of just dandy these days, aren't you?" Cid muttered as he tossed Cloud a worn white lighter.

"Huh?"

"Nothin'," Cid said. "Just hate it when I prove myself right."

Cloud stared at him in befuddlement for a moment, and then decided to let it slide. "Tifa's gonna kill me for this," Cloud said, looking at the cigarette between his fingers as he handed Cid the lighter back.

"Not like you can get lung cancer, is it?"

"I guess not," Cloud side, one corner of his mouth quirking up ruefully. "What's your excuse?"

"Only the good die young, and all. I figure I pissed off enough people that I got a long and healthy life covered. And hey, Tifa tries to yell at you, you can blame it on me. That should buy me another couple of years."

Tifa walked ahead of them, her attention on the stretch of coastline they stalked. Cloud was banking on the fact that when Tifa was well and truly focused on something it took the apocalypse to shake her off of it. She wouldn't leave off looking for signs of a giant destructive something-or-other to scold Cloud for questionable personal habits.

Fishing boats on the stretch of coast near Rocket Town had been going missing, only to turn up days later torn apart, crew missing. Cid, as de facto (and often reluctant) leader of the area, had been called in to fix the problem. His solution, predictably, was to find whatever was causing problems and stab it until it died a very bloody death. The fishermen, stern faced and determined, hadn't objected any to that course of action.

Cloud needed a vacation and he owed Cid about half a dozen separate favors. This, to Cloud's mind, fulfilled both necessities. Then again, 'vacation' was an extremely loose definition at the moment – no one had been exaggerating the annoyance of the new and interesting monsters that prowled the coast. Chaos already flew above them, scattering bits of crown lance corpses whenever he swept low enough.

A grumpy roar reverberated through the air, and the ocean crested up in a wave that sent water up across the grass to slosh around Cloud's boots; the boat eating nuisance making its presence known and approaching shore fast. Cloud dropped his cigarette into the damp grass and sprinted toward the sand, Cid on his heels. Tifa was already there, the mako-scent of materia gathering around her.

In the grand tradition of things Cloud Strife had to kill for the greater good, the monster was a riotous chimera of 'tab A does not go into slot B'. Had Hojo ever been seized with the urge to cross a dragon, a crown lance, and a tonberry – and Cloud wasn't about to put aside the possibility – it might have squelched its way onto shore in a manner not much unlike this monster's.

Tifa's protect spell washed over the three of them on the ground. Cloud bit back a smile as he hefted his sword and charged forward.

Half an hour later, Cid curiously poked at the dead monster with his spear, his cellphone tucked against his shoulder. Cloud did not doubt he was speaking to one of those disgruntled fishermen, discussing whether or not freakish gigantic monsters could be butchered for food or materials. It was always amusing when Cid got around to being practical.

Chaos landed a moment later, surrendering control to Vincent as soon as feet touched ground. Vincent leaned heavily against Cid's shoulder, and Cloud turned away to give them their privacy.

"Is it just me," Tifa muttered, as she carded her hands through her long hair to get the monster goo out of it, "or do a lot of the things we end up fighting _ooze_?"

Cloud flicked a bit of carcass out of her hair. "Not just you."

She smiled at him, the expression as gentle as could be hoped for when her face was smeared with blood in at least two colors and bits of her hair were dripping monster ooze.

_If I could ever love her, _Cloud thought, _it would happen right now._

When no crashing crescendo of deep feeling enveloped him, he still returned her smile with something fond. If nothing else, he'd give her what little he could.

Her phone rang, shattering the moment and the squirm of anxiety in Cloud's stomach. She pulled it out of a pocket and flipped it open, frowning at the number. Tifa's cell number was the one practically every one in the world had – friends, enemies, casual acquaintances. If something went south in a big way, they were to call Tifa Lockheart, bartender and restaurant owner.

The furrow between Tifa's brows suggested that something had possibly gone south in a big way. She flipped her phone open.

"Hello?"

She walked off a little ways, and though he could still hear her clearly Cloud made a valiant attempt to pretend he was giving her privacy. He turned back to Cid and Vincent, the latter now carrying his own weight and looking as cool and composed as he ever did. Cid flipped his phone shut and tucked it back in his coat pocket. Looking over his shoulder, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Cloud, jerking his chin toward Tifa and her phone conversation. Cloud shrugged - he'd developed a trick quite awhile ago, of not processing the words of conversations that didn't belong to him.

They grouped back together as Tifa hung up her phone.

"That was Icicle."

"All of it?" Cid asked. "Pretty damn amazing phone call you got there."

"The _mayor _of Icicle," she said, voice laced with impatience. "He was actually hoping to get a hold of Red, but."

"Red? Why?"

Tifa squared her shoulders, an attempt to make herself look bigger against the world. "It's the crater. There's something wrong with the Lifestream."

Panic fluttered at the edges of Cloud's mind, but he squashed it ruthlessly. Not every problem was going to blossom into a full blown crisis, and the Lifestream was, technically, on their 'side'. This couldn't have anything to do with Jenova. Or Sephiroth. They were dead, destroyed, scattered and helpless at the very least.

"Should we contact Nanaki?" Vincent asked.

"No one's been hurt, and there hasn't been any influx of monsters or mutations in the area," Tifa said. "But people are still worried."

"Let's check it out ourselves." They all turned to look at Cloud, and he hoped his expression didn't betray the frantic pounding of his heart. "If it's nothing, we don't have to bother Red with it."

And he felt, in the pieces of him that he did his best not to acknowledge, that this was not something that Nanaki's knowledge could fix. Cloud had no idea what was going on, but…

_You worry too much. Let's just go and see, okay? We promise nothing will explode._

"We?" Cloud whispered, but Zack-or-just-the-voice-in-his-head didn't respond. His living companions, however, stared at him.

"We?" Tifa echoed.

"Have to get going. We'll take the Highwind, if that's okay with you, Cid?"

Cid narrowed his eyes at Cloud, but just grunted his consent.

•••

Despite a few terrifying up close and personals with the Lifestream, Cloud didn't really fear it. There was something benign about it in its unprocessed form, no matter how dangerous it was. The refined mako, with its shine and its burn – _that _he hated. Still, benign or not, Lifestream acting under its own power was, and always would be, fundamentally disturbing.

It nearly filled the crater, lapping at rocks like the ocean at high tide, swirling up to lovingly wrap around the already bizarre crystal formations. The air hummed with the taste of it, and it burned in Cloud's lungs. He wondered if Cid and Tifa had it better or worse – could they even taste it, having never known it as he did?

Cloud slid the last precious few feet down the crater wall before the pool of Lifestream swallowed things up entirely. He knew why some people considered it beautiful; you could see every color if you looked at it just the right way, it caught light and magnified it back in breathtaking opalescence. During bad moments, it only reminded Cloud of the dead-harsh-green of Sephiroth's eyes and, oddly, the brilliance missing from them.

Cid whistled, sharp and disbelieving. "Holy hell. There wasn't this much last time they ran a survey up here. Not _near_ this much."

"What's going on?" Cloud asked, though he really had no idea who – or what – he tried to address. His voice didn't echo, folded up into the Lifestream to stop dead and flat.

A horrifyingly familiar giggle floated up, impossibly, from the Lifestream. "That's a very complicated question. You're getting better at asking those."

Something in Cloud's head was busily enmeshed in panic and disbelief. Zack was silent as death.

"Aeris?" Tifa said from somewhere behind him, voice laced with awe and caution in equal parts.

"Yours truly!" Strands of acid green wormed up out of the Lifestream to twist themselves into a human shape. A few of the details were a bit blurry, and her hair was down in the waves she'd gone to her grave with, but it was unmistakably her. "We hoped you'd come."

"We?" Vincent echoed, and Cloud recognized the dark incredulity in his tone.

Aeris smiled at him, gently forgiving his suspicions. "The Cetra, the Planet, whatever you wish to call us. I'm glad you came, we thought you might not, or that you'd send someone else." She reached out, but stopped just short of putting a hand on Cloud's arm. "It's so hard to ask you this, Cloud, and you have every right to say no, but. We need your help, again."

"Just mine?" Cloud asked.

"Well, everyone else is more than welcome as well." Her smile faded to something lopsided. "But it's you that can fix this, even if it's best that you have help."

"Spit it out," Cid snapped. "What the hell's going on?"

Aeris made a face at him. "Patience is a virtue, Captain."

"Ya, ya, you damn well better get on with it."

"Cloud," Aeris said, returning her attention to him, "you have to know that Sephiroth and Jenova were very, very powerful at the end of everything. And it meant so much to us, to me, that you were able to do as much as you did."

"But it wasn't enough," Cloud said, his stomach sinking to his knees.

"Not…quite. More than most anyone could have done. Jenova is beyond human, almost beyond Cetra. And we've been pushed nearly past usefulness. We couldn't finish her off – not without destroying this world along with her, and after you worked so hard for everything…

"So we did the only thing we could think of, something that wouldn't affect this world. We reached into the fabric of space and ripped open a pathway to a weaker world, one that was decaying. Jenova could do no harm there; all possible harm was already done."

"There's a but, isn't there?" Cloud asked, trying to smile at her, resisting the urge to reach out to a girl who wasn't alive.

"Something happened to time itself, in that space. The reality of the world was warped, and when it straightened itself out it was no longer in decay. We're not sure how, but something amazing happened, to fix that world. And we'd just thrown Jenova into their midst. She has Sephiroth killing already." Aeris bit her lip. "It's only a matter of time before things escalate, I think."

Cloud didn't need to be asked. "What can we do?"

"We didn't close the tear, when we saw what had happened. You've harmed Sephiroth before, and Jenova is sorely depleted from keeping herself together in his mind. He is her last vessel, her last – hope. I know that world is not your responsibility – you never asked for this one to be – but no one there knows what's upon them."

She looked beautiful, even guilt ridden, terrified, and incorporeal. Her eyes, somehow, were a gentler green than the Lifestream surrounding them, the green of earth and compassion. He'd never really figured out how to say no to her when she lived, how could he deny her something now?

"You know I'll go." And, not looking over his shoulder, added, "the others don't have to."

"Ah, fuck you, kid. Like we'd let you do this alone."

"There's no time to gather the others?" Tifa asked.

"It's taking a considerable amount of energy to keep the tear open as long as we have." Aeris spread her hands. "It's best if we act quickly. The faster you move, the better chance there is that we'll be able to get you back, as well."

"Then let's make haste," Vincent said.

Aeris stepped forward, enveloped Cloud in a hug made out of the planet's blood. "Thank you all so very much."  
The world went white just as Cloud buried his nose in her hair.

"You know I love you," she whispered, to him and around him while existence spun in dizzy circles. "You and Zack both, so much. But please remember, for your own sake. Your own, and nobody else's."

•••

Cloud knew hospital-scent far too well. For five years he had lived it, whenever he was out of the skin-mind-burning tube of mako and pain. The antiseptic, the drugs, the falsely clean sterility of it all invading the senses and wiping everything else away. It was scent, sounds, touch... the shuffle of painfully austere shoes, the beeping and hissing of machines, the low murmur of medical talk, the numbing shiver of IV fluids running down his arm from a sting in his elbow... terror.

They'd taken his sword, left him helpless and all too aware of it. Why was he here? What had he been doing? Hadn't he escaped this? Hadn't he_forgotten _this, and how sweet it had been, to live without it over his head, in his heart? He could feel his pulse jumping as he realized with numb shock that he hadn't forgotten _anything, _he'd never left, he was still in Nibelheim, in a basement, abandoned and abused and all alone except for a man he didn't even deserve to_look at…_

Scrambling upright, taking not a moment to be surprised at the lack of restraints, he ripped the IV out of his skin. Blood dribbled down his arm, warm against clammy skin.

Crouching on the hospital bed, most of his thoughts a terrified, panicked smear, he searched desperately for exits and found none. White walls to the front, back, and left, and a gauzy curtain to his right. Bounding off the bed, he ripped down the curtain. He had to get out of here, had to find Zack and run before everything went wrong again –

A woman stood in front of him, a cordless phone in the crook of her neck as she scribbled something on a clipboard. Slowly, she looked up to meet her eyes. There was nothing overtly threatening about her – she had the settled in, comfortable look of the middle aged and inactive – but she wore the floor length white coat. She didn't _need _weapons.

She must be here to watch him, to write down everything until Hojo came back and all of the pain started again, and then she'd take more notes and she_wouldn't give a damn at all._

He wasn't a toy!

She said something into the phone as he lunged toward her, something about 'awake' and 'hostile' and 'back up'. She wanted to take his chance away!

_Cloud! _The thought clawed through the chaos of his others, loud and Different._Cloud, stop it now!_

He halted abruptly, rocking back on his heels at the familiar voice. Pulse and breathing evening out just slightly, he took a moment to wonder where he was, what was going on. Hojo's lab had always been darker than this, and that medical scent had always been laced with the peculiar smell of basements. If Hojo had moved them while they were unconscious…

_Hojo's dead, Cloud. You need to calm down. Aeris sent you here, remember? We wouldn't let anything like that happen to you._

Aeris, that was right. And Zack. Fuck. He'd come here for a reason, to get rid of Jenova and Sephiroth…

But he didn't _want _to kill Sephiroth, did he? And Jenova, Mother-not-mother, she needed to live – die?

The world flooded with pain, one of the reality shattering migraines he thought he'd left behind him. But with the agony came clarity, memory, riding on the waves of familiar discomfort. Panic receded, smoothing over the splinters of his mind.

Cloud lowered his still trembling hands and backed up further from the frightened woman. But even though her eyes were wide and her posture screamed readiness to flee, her voice did not shake when she addressed the person on the other end of the phoneline.

"Never mind, he appears to have gotten control of himself," she said. "But if you could come down here anyway, I'd appreciate it."

She took a step toward him, and Cloud backed away another, nearly to the bed. He was still leery of her, and if something went off in his head again he didn't want her getting hurt.

"Who are you?" he asked, managing a close approximation to calm.

"Dr. Kadowaki, of Balamb Garden." She spoke in that patient Doctor Voice, but without any of the insidious undertones he'd gotten used to. "And you are?"

"Balamb Garden?" Cloud repeated, unsure of the weight she'd put behind the words. "Who's in charge?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Commander Squall Leonhart."

'Commander' implied that he'd ended up in the most disingenuously named military center ever. Unless this Leonhart was leading a pack of very dedicated botanists, ones who required their own infirmary.

"I need to speak with him. Where are the others?"

"Squall's on his way. And your friends are still unconscious." She waved a hand toward curtained off alcoves like the one he'd woken up in.

The ringing of heavy boots on linoleum cut off their conversation, and they both turned at a door slid open of its own accord. The young man who entered was obviously a few years behind Cloud, but he had the height advantage and carried himself like a fighter. He kept his hands around the oddly shaped hilt of the sword at his hip, regarding Cloud with incurious gray-blue eyes.

"You're okay?" he asked Kadowaki.

She smiled thinly. "Iatrophobia is not exactly uncommon among soldiers, Squall. I'm just glad he stood down when he did."

Leonhart turned to Cloud. "Name and rank? What Garden are you a part of?"

"Cloud Strife," Cloud answered. "No rank. No affiliation."

"You have weapons that are obviously military-grade, but you don't wear national uniforms." His lips thinned into a scowl. "We've warned Galbadia Garden before this."

"I'm not a part of Galbadia anything," Cloud snapped. "Look, I need to talk to you."

"Four well armed people show up unconscious in my Garden and _you _need to talk to _me?_"

Cloud got the impression of someone who communicated better in sarcasm than they did diplomacy. He also got the urge to pin Leonhart up against a wall and shout at him a bit, but that was quickly quashed. Leonhart wasn't the invader here.

"It's important," Cloud insisted. "Extremely important." He looked toward the curtained alcove, remembered fear. "And I'd get Vincent – the man in the cloak – out of here."

It had never come up before, but Cloud wasn't willing to bet on Vincent being any more comfortable around doctors than he was. At the very least, it would save Vincent a shock he didn't need.

"Why?" Kadowaki asked.

"Iatrophobia," Cloud said, bitterness wrapped around the words.

"Fine. Doctor, see the remaining detainees transferred to a dormitory, but keep them guarded." Leonhart jabbed a finger at Cloud. "You, come with me."

Cloud managed to stop himself halfway through a Soldier salute. Too much of the past was determined to catch up with him today.

•••

Squall took in the details of his surprise visitor out of the corner of his eye. The man carried himself like a SeeD, wary, and something about him looked naked without a weapon. But there was something about him that certainly wasn't quite right: the sword they'd found on his back had taken two men to lift and transport to weapon storage. A bare two inches taller than Zell, perhaps, and much leaner, there was no possible way Cloud Strife could lift that monstrosity of a weapon.

Over the course of his unfortunately eventful life, Squall had seen more than a few odd things. Everything, up to and including the final battle with the Sorceress, had fairly well inured him to strangeness. A couple of cadets finding four strangers unconscious in the lobby was pretty low on the list, but something was making him uneasy. Maybe he was being paranoid, or maybe it was a combination of the murders in Galbadia and the way Rinoa slept so uneasy lately.

And on top of all that, Cloud Strife's eyes _glowed. _Not in the metaphorical way, like the horrible poems the girl from the library had once written about Zell's eyes. Actual, possibly capable of being seen in a dark room, light source _glowing. _As if he was constantly summoning.

Impossible, of course.

The walk to the elevator, and then to Squall's office, seemed to stretch longer than it should have. Despite the formidable boots Strife wore, his footsteps were extremely quiet; he didn't even seem to breathe as loudly or as deeply as he should have. It was like being followed around by a particularly energetic coma patient, and it put all of Squall's battle instincts on edge. Part of him wanted to kick Strife out now, or just kill him – anything but allowing him to enter the semi-sanctity of Squall's office.

Not quite as big as the Headmaster's, Squall's office was just roomy enough to house two desks with a folding divider between them, and some much abused filing cabinets. Zell sat at one of the desks, feet on the scuffed wood as he tipped back in his chair, flipping through some documents and throwing them into appropriate piles. Beside him, a tiny radio did its level best to blare out whatever weird alternative pop music Zell had decided to subject Squall's delicate sensibilities to that week.

How Zell had ended up his impromptu secretary, Squall had never quite gotten around to figuring out. But, just as he'd been about to snap under the ever increasing work load, Zell had been there to shoulder some of the burden. Strength and support were, after all, things that Zell excelled in. Besides, he was good at filing, passable at answering the phones, and excelled at scaring away stupid people. And the job certainly kept him occupied and out of the way of the cafeteria staff. Squall wasn't about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth.

"You've got a message from Laguna," Zell said as they walked in, cheerfully ignoring Cloud. "One of the official kind. Something about government-Garden relations. All that really, really exciting shit."

"I'll call Kiros about it later."

"You have fun with that one." Zell peered over the edge of his papers, tattoo and sneakers adding a demented disjointedness to the office worker image. "You have really freaky eyes, man," he remarked to Strife, perfectly congenial.

Cloud stared at him. "I know."

"Just sayin'."

"Strife, sit down." Squall gestured vaguely to the chair in front of his desk. "Zell, go back to work."

"I should be getting hazard pay for this crap, okay? Balamb Garden," he said, pitching his voice to a breathy tone that would have been more at home on a sex line, "I'm sorry sir, our rates for infanticide are much, much higher."

"My heart bleeds for you," Squall muttered, closing the partition on Zell's shouted 'it should!'.

Strife perched on the edge of the chair, visibly tense. Squall sank into his own seat, a squashy black political thing that he'd initially hated because of the resemblance it bore to Cid or Laguna's official fripperies. He'd gotten used to it, and grudgingly hadn't thrown it into the incinerator at Rinoa's insistence.

"I'm listening," he said.

"Good." Strife squared his shoulders. "You're not going to believe me, but you need to at least let me finish. We're not from your world. We've been sent here."

Squall let that sink in for a moment.

"I've seen weirder things," he concluded. "Sent here why?"

"There was a mistake. Something you probably wouldn't understand. But two very dangerous things have ended up in your world, and they're not supposed to be here." He frowned. "Or you're not supposed to be here.

"The one you'll see is Sephiroth. He'll have been killing – that's what she does. He's a man with long silver hair and green eyes, he's…unmistakable, unforgettable."

"And if it isn't my problem who gets killed?" Squall asked, leaning back in his chair.

"He won't stop at murder. She wanted our world, and she'll want yours."

Refraining for the moment from commenting on Cloud's eclectic pronoun use, Squall considered the options laid out before him. Dismiss Strife's warning as the ravings of a madman and hope the murders in Galbadia didn't escalate, or take him at his word and risk losing face if he was a lunatic with issues?

Squall had never cared much for his reputation, but damned if he'd saved this world once for it to be destroyed. By an outsider, no less.

"Zell!"

A moment of clattering and cursing, and then Zell pushed back the divider. "What?"

"Get the team together, and any of Strife's allies if they've regained consciousness. Don't use the PA."

"And Rinoa?" Zell asked.

Orders, Squall had discovered, were much easier when they didn't involve his girlfriend. "…yes." She might have something to say about this, as the Sorceress vessel.

Zell saluted and bounded off.

"What are you?" Strife asked, breaking the sudden awkward silence.

"Excuse me?"

"Garden. You're a soldier." Cloud pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's a soldier. But he said you weren't connected with the government."

Squall snorted softly. "You must be from another world, if you don't know." At least this he didn't mind talking about, so much. "Garden is the military base for SeeDs. We're a mercenary organization, occasionally hired out to the heads of various governments."

"Mercenaries," Cloud repeated, as if the word had some magical properties.

Squall simply nodded, and the room slid back into quiet until his team filed in. They were trailed by the previously unconscious man in the red cloak, and Squall saw that he had eyes to match it. Eyes with a faint glow, though it was not as apparent as Cloud's. Was it something that was common to their world?

"Vincent Valentine," the man said.

Squall didn't begrudge him the abrupt introduction.

"Your story, Strife," he said.

Over the course of nearly an hour, Cloud Strife detailed an incredible story. His world sounded disgusting and bleak, and the little, bitter asides Valentine sometimes muttered didn't make it sound anymore inviting. And, Squall realized uneasily, it seemed that everyone was doomed to have troubles with mad scientists.

At the end of it though, he knew that Strife left out large chunks of relevant information. Though he'd explained Soldier and the glow of his eyes, he'd never mentioned being a part of the organization, or Valentine's possible role in it. Strife obviously edited out anything personal or incriminating. But what was left had been more than enough.

"So there's some guy running around with a crazy megalomanic alien bitch in his head?" Irvine concluded.

"That's the long and short of it, yes."

Squall resisted the urge to sink back in his chair, unwilling to show weakness in front of Strife or Valentine. "We'll wait for the other two to regain consciousness, and then we'll decide on a course of action. Quistis, if you could fill Headmaster Cid in on the situation and tell him I've decided to take armed action…"

And soothe the resulting ruffled feathers.

"I'll take care of it," she assured him.

"This won't be easy," Valentine said, his dour gaze and voice washing over them like a dangerously high tide.

"Nothing ever is," Squall said.

•••

"You seem perturbed," Vincent said to Cloud over the abbreviated lunch they were being allowed, the cafeteria having been cleared of what appeared to be a herd of chattering students.

It was easy to whisper under Selphie's exuberant tales of how they'd 'done trippy time compression stuff' and 'blown evil sorceress bitches – no offense Rin – all to hell and back'. Even with the whole tale of what the SeeDs had been through related, she seemed to catch constantly on little details that she had to go back and elaborate on, even if her intended audience wasn't listening.

Cloud picked listlessly at the wilting lettuce of his salad. "Do I?"

"Cid noticed it, and I do not think it has improved markedly with our situation."

"You'll think I'm crazy," Cloud cautioned.

Vincent stared at him, managing in complete facial stoicism to convey that Cloud was being a bit daft.

"I keep half-remembering things," Cloud said. "Or my imagination is just inventing things to fill the holes, I'm not sure which is more likely. But. If I am remembering them, I knew Sephiroth. Before. He's always there. Which wouldn't be so bad, but he's always – human. Not crazy, not ranting, not killing or burning, just…being a person."

"He is the child of humans, if not the son of a father with a remarkable character," Vincent said. "You must know that there is something under what Jenova has done to him."

"I knew that before." Cloud avoided eye contact with Vincent. "But it didn't seem important. I never…knew that I knew him. Zack knew him. Zack pretty much adopted him, I think."

Zack, quiet since the infirmary, still declined to comment.

"You're going to have to come to terms with what he is, as you came to terms with what you are."

"Sometimes," Cloud found himself admitting, "I don't think I ever really came to terms. With what I am."

"Some of us never do."

They lapsed into silence after that, listening to Selphie's exuberant story telling and hoping for Cid and Tifa to wake up. The blind, in the end, could not lead the blind, and waited for the sighted to guide them.


	3. Mmmm, Tastes Like Seifer

The string of profanity heard from inside the infirmary could only belong to Cid Highwind; no one else was quite that creative when it came to swearing. Selphie eyes widened in astonishment when the captain suggested exactly what a few of the nurses could do to each other with the medical equipment.

"I didn't know that was _possible._"

"It's not, sweetheart," Irvine assured her, putting a hand on the small of her back. "Not unless you're very flexible."

Selphie pulled a face and Cloud swallowed a quiet laugh. With Yuffie helping to build Wutai in the aftermath of Meteor, he'd forgotten what it was like to be around teenagers. Even those trained to be killers were a welcome relief from the 'adult world' he'd never actually had a chance to learn how to deal with. Growing to the ripe old age of twenty one in a test tube didn't really leave him with a lot of life experiences, even after absorbing Zack's memories. Zack had only been twenty at the time they'd been shoved in, after all. Cloud wondered if anyone realized that sometimes, mentally, he was still an utterly confused 15 year old. Then again, sometimes he was a lot of different things at once in his head. He could forgive his companions for not trying to figure out what was going on his mind.

The doctor edged away from him slightly as they entered the medlab, and Cloud sighed. He would have skipped his earlier psychotic episode if he could have; unfortunately none of it was up to him. Looking back quickly, he found that Vincent had stopped just outside the entrance, and was waiting patiently. The blond almost wished he could have done the same; it was still extremely uncomfortable for him to be here.

Tifa had pushed herself to her feet and was stretching, which made for some rather disgusting popping noises. She put her arms down, caught sight of Cloud, and offered him a weak grin.

"The doctor said you were okay, but I know…" She trailed off.

"I'm fine." Well, he was now, mostly. So it wasn't _really_ a lie.

"Cloud, this isn't Ho-"

"I know," he cut her off abruptly, not caring if he was being rude to her. He hadn't mentioned anything to Squall and his 'SeeDs' about his little stint under Hojo, and he didn't want them to start asking questions about exactly what he'd left out of the story. The blond doubted they'd understand.

Luckily, Cid's amazing powers of social etiquette interrupted an awkward silence. "Mind explaining where the hell we are?"

"Where we're supposed to be." When Highwind looked not at all pleased with the vague explanation, Cloud expanded. "This is the headquarters of a mercenary organization. We're supposed to help them."

Cid raised an eyebrow at the assembly of teenagers behind Cloud, the pilot's arms crossed over his chest as he frowned. Cloud knew, however, that Cid would not harp on them about their age. From what he'd learned about the pilot's days in the Shinra Air Force, he'd been a young participant in the Wutai War, and by the age of nineteen had already earned respect as an ace pilot.

_"Not like it was hard," Cid added bitterly, lightening another cigarette. "Wutai's planes were crap. The army won that 'war', we just bombed innocents."_

_ From then on, Cloud avoided mentioning the Wutai War directly to Cid._

Cloud shook his head; he was woolgathering again without realizing it.

"Leonhart, this is Cid Highwind and Tifa Lockheart."

More introductions around the group, and hopefully this would be the last exchange of polite 'hellos' Cloud had to sit through. This was all wasting time; they had to get around to the important things - finding this Seifer and making sure they kept him away from Sephiroth, finding Sephiroth in the first place…

Squall's thoughts were apparently running along the same track. "Selphie, go inform the headmaster and Edea about what's been going on. Quistis, go get Xu, I want the two of you to work on locating Seifer so we can bring him in. Irvine, there should be some clear rooms in the dormitory, escort our 'guests' to them. The rest of you are dismissed, and get some rest, it's a long day tomorrow."

Everyone except Rinoa stood to attention and saluted smartly before going off to their duties or sleep. Irvine, Squall and the girl stayed behind with Cloud and his companions.

Irvine, his girlfriend safely out of smacking range, grinned flirtatiously at Tifa and bowed sarcastically. "It would be an honor to escort such a beautiful lady and her friends to your sleeping quarters."

He did not count on Rinoa stepping in to deliver the sharp thwack to the back of his head. Irvine straightened and rubbed the back of his neck while grumbling at the smug Rinoa about how he wasn't allowed to have any fun. He didn't notice Tifa rolling her eyes in gentle exasperation.

"Get going, Irvine."

"Ya, Squall, I got it."

Squall watched the SeeD escort out Cloud and the others, and the commander's facial expression didn't give away any of what he was thinking.

"Squall?" Rinoa's small hand rested on his shoulder. "What do you think of this?"

"I don't like it," he admitted, moving to take her hand in his as they exited the infirmary and made their way towards their rooms. "I don't trust Strife, he's not telling us enough of the truth, and his 'team' is a liability."

"And you hate going on blind faith."

Squall nodded, glad that she understood. It was a little odd, having someone around who understood him without having to ask. Zell and the others could do it, to an extent, but sometimes it seemed Rinoa knew what was going through his head before _he_ did.

"His eyes," she said, biting her lip, "Cloud's eyes…they glow. And, I'm going to sound stupid saying this, but I know that look in them. Seifer always had that look, after the Sorceress. Haunted, a little blank."

She sounded so worried, so sad, that Squall couldn't bring himself to tell her she was probably just making up worries. Beyond that, there was something about Strife that struck a disquieting chord in him, an instinct that raised his guard and screamed that the man was dangerous to them. But at the same time, he was offering help and Squall didn't think he was lying.

It was as if Strife himself was torn into two different parts – the man who was probably sitting awake in the borrowed dorm room, who was giving his aid to a bunch of strangers against some menace; then there was something else, something Squall didn't ever want to see sleeping just below the surface of glowing eyes. The commander got a glance at that horrible, indefinable 'something' every time Strife said the name Sephiroth.

"He's going to need to be watched. Just as much as Seifer."

"Do you really think Seifer could be in any danger?"

Squall couldn't help the flash of jealousy he felt hearing her say his rival's name with such pity, but he reminded himself that though she had loved Seifer once, she didn't anymore. It was hard though, to believe she wouldn't ever leave him.

"He might, he might not."

Either Rinoa sensed his anxiety or just didn't feel like talking about it herself, because as he punched the number into the keypad, she dropped the subject.

•••

Cloud was looking in the mirror. It was a simple practice that most people did at least once a day, and not something that would generally cause alarm. Anyone watching, however, would have been disturbed at how absorbed Cloud seemed in his reflection, taking in everything from the dripping wet hair and high cheekbones to the towel wrapped around a too-slim waist, even to his feet.

None of it answered his questions.

_You need to eat more._

The peanut gallery's running commentary wasn't helping matters any.

If he closed his glowing blue eyes, no one would have seen anything out of the ordinary about this young man. There were no physical lines blurring between Cloud Strife and Zack Charon, no bruises in the shape of handprints to brand him as Sephiroth's Puppet, Jenova had left no holes in his physique. Cloud ran a hand over his abdomen, where there should have been a scar from the masamune plunging into his stomach all those years ago. The mako Hojo introduced took care of that, no white lines to mar pale skin. Chemicals kept his body from injury, and that hardly seemed fair to his mind.

"If I wanted to die…could I?"

There was no one around to hear him whispering to himself, no one to condemn him as insane for his thoughts. No one to answer the questions that even Zack seemed unable to respond to.

_"They say he's immortal."_

_ "I bet you could cut him into pieces and he'd come back."_

_ "He can kill anything!"_

_ "…unstoppable!"_

_ "Unbeatable…"_

_ "Like a god…"_

"Sephiroth."

Did he have his childhood wish, now? Was he like the Great General, who never had any scars to show for his battles, who never seemed to weaken? Had he inherited the title of Immortal from the man he'd slain?

"Take it back, I don't want it."

Cloud didn't know who he was pleading to, or what he wanted them to take. There wasn't much in his life he wanted to keep, not his childhood, not his failures in Shinra, not the burning of Nibelheim, certainly not the struggle against Sephiroth and Jenova. Perhaps he wanted to treasure the few, shifting memories of his time as Zack's friend, but if those were all he'd have to sacrifice to make everything go away, he'd happily wipe the slate clean.

He pressed a hand to the mirror and spread his fingers, marveling at the thing that should not have been able to lift the buster sword. The regular rank and file fighter he'd been had preferred fighting with knives, he recalled hazily that he'd always kept one hidden in his boot just in case. But even if he put aside his monster swords and picked up his knives he'd still be too good, unnaturally and noticeably better than any human should be. There was no escaping what Cloud Strife was, and what Zack Charon had been.

"Take it back."

Take away being a bastard child with his mother's name, take away being too young and too small for Shinra, take away the flames licking against his skin as the tears for his mother evaporated as soon as they were shed, take away the horrible gut wrenching feeling of his sword slicing into the General's flesh.

"Take it back."

He had a strange, almost disorienting feeling of someone slipping ghostly arms around him in a friendly hug. Zack had never held with the 'over macho attitude' and if Cloud ever looked like he needed a comforting hug, Zack had been there to give it. Even now, when it was just a whisper of a mental wish and a memory, it was soothing.

_Go to sleep Spiky, you're going to need it._

Cloud sighed and stepped back from the mirror, his reflection retreating as well. Zack was right, he needed rest, and to stop exploring the inside of his head. He would have time to go insane later, after Sephiroth was taken care of and lives were saved.

•••

Seifer Almasy was pissed off, and that was possibly an understatement. However, he knew he still cut an impressive figure even fuming with incoherent rage. His battered white trench coat shifting around his ankles and flanked by his two faithful 'lieutenants', Seifer knew he was capable of intimidating a good many people.

Quistis Trepe was not, and would never be, one of those people. This explained why she and Xu had been able to haul Seifer, Fuujin and Raijin back to Garden without giving up out of fear for their lives. He'd always despised Quistis; her know it all, holier than thou attitude, her puppy dog crush on Leonhart, her out of hand dismissal of Seifer. Everything about Quistis Trepe wanted to make him hit something, preferably her.

Fuujin, however, had promised him in their one moment of solitude that if he raised a hand against anyone and got them in trouble, she'd personally see to it that he would never breed. And if there was one thing in the world that Seifer was intimidated by it was Fuujin when she was making sincere threats. So he stood there in Leonhart's office like a good little boy, glaring sullenly at a smug Quistis and waiting for the person he hated even more than her to come and give him an explanation.

He could see it now. Leonhart would come swaggering into the room like he owned the place, safe in the knowledge that he's saved the world, gotten the girl, gotten the promotion. He'd slipped perfectly into his little niche as valiant hero, and Seifer had been shunted to the side as the despised rival who made too many mistakes too be pitied. Sometimes, Seifer wanted to kill Squall just so he could gloat that Leonhart wasn't the perfect White Knight after all, but that was an unobtainable dream.

"Almasy. Fuujin, Raijin."

Leonhart's entrance didn't involve quite as much swaggering as Seifer had predicted, and the solemn looking blond following behind him was just as big a surprise. The newcomer turned to look at Seifer, and the Sorceress's failed knight saw something in bizarre blue eyes that spoke volumes. Volumes of what, he wasn't sure, but there was something there that Seifer didn't want to touch.

Seifer gave himself a mental shake, tearing his eyes away from the blonde's.

"You mind explaining what's going on, Leonhart?" He snarled. "I haven't bothered your precious SeeDs any."

Leonhart didn't waste time mincing words. "There's a new problem, and to leave you unguarded would be a liability."

Seifer snorted. "What, afraid I'll go running back to evil?"

"Yes." That wasn't Leonhart. Seifer turned his attention back to the blond.

"And you would be?" He asked, as if the knowledge were his due.

"Cloud Strife."

"Cloud? What the hell was your mother smoking when she named you _that_?" The insult was half automatic response and half true incredulity. Hell, at least 'Squall' sounded mostly masculine.

Any retort Cloud might have had was cut off by Leonhart.

"We're not here to listen to your version of witty banter, Seifer," Squall said.

"Well, gee, and here I thought you missed my conversational skills."

Seifer didn't need to look back at Fuujin to know she was glaring at him.

"You're contained in Garden until further notice," Leonhart informed them ever-so-cordially.

Damn Leonhart and his 'I don't give a damn' attitude, it seemed that his personality 'quirks' had only gotten worse since Seifer had left. The _commander_ didn't even seem to care that he technically didn't have any authority at all over Seifer.

"Where do you get off telling me what to do?"

Squall regarded his once rival calmly. "I'm being nice, Seifer. You can agree, or we can restrict you to Garden by force."

Seifer opened his mouth to tell Squall something along the lines of 'screw off', but Raijin didn't give him the chance.

"Seifer, I don't think we have a choice, you know?" The large man whispered, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "He's bein' serious."

Raijin, for once in his life, was right. Seifer was out of practice and unarmed, neither condition Squall suffered. When it really came down to it, Seifer would rather be a forced guest with the chance of escape than a prisoner with no hope.

"Fine, Leonhart, I'll stay. But only because you enjoy the pleasure of my company so much."

Leonhart might have snorted. "Fuujin and Raijin are free to leave."

"Stay!" Fuujin proclaimed in a voice that left no room for argument.

"Whatever."

Ah, there was the Leonhart Seifer remembered.

•••

There was something about the words 'Training Center' that would always draw Cloud Strife, like a moth to a flame. He was vaguely surprised that no one questioned his presence as he entered the greenhouse-like area, and made a mental note to ask Squall what the hell was up with his 'security'. If someone had entered one of the Soldier compounds without permission or a relatively good disguise they were almost immediately bombarded by guards and alarms. Cloud's presence should have at least been questioned, even if he'd been seen yesterday in the cafeteria.

Shaking his head, he banished those thoughts for now and looked for something that would constitute this being a training center. Trees sure as hell wouldn't cut it, unless they suddenly sprouted fangs. As if answering his unspoken question, his preemptive material began buzzing in the back of his head, warning him to prepare for battle.

He flipped the Ultima Weapon out of its magnetic sheath on his back and tensed into a battle position, listening for the tell tale noise of monsters. He didn't have to listen very hard, as the heavy footfalls made by his 'prey' could have been heard by a fighter half deaf.

The blond ran a hand over his bangle, activating the scan and cure materia and making sure that Bahamut was ready to be summoned if it came to that. They _probably_ wouldn't keep anything particularly deadly in the Training Center, and Cloud's version of 'deadly' went above and beyond the usual, but he wasn't about to be caught by surprise.

: T-Rexaur. Weakness – ice attacks. : The knowledge from his scan materia sprang quickly to the front of his mind, and Cloud activated his ice materia, holding the level three spell back until the appropriate time came. This was so familiar, so easy to fall into; precisely balanced battle stance, magic humming in the back of his head and gathering at his fingertips, the enemy's burning eyes.

Cloud let the monster attack first, knowing that the beast would take the simple act of standing his ground as a direct insult. It was nice, this predictable routine - the monster changed but the battle was the same. The Rex screamed its challenge and charged, monstrous jaws ready to tear Cloud to pieces. The dodge, the sword slash, annoying to the creature but purposely not fatal, were all quick reflex.

Ten minutes later Cloud decided he'd both worked out his stress and taunted the poor monster enough. The pent up ice spell was almost eager to be released from the materia, and the shards of cold sent the Rex slamming to the floor in death. Cloud was used to the odd surge of satisfaction and gloating triumph that filled him, purely Zack. He wasn't, however, expecting the cold, polite applause that filled the suddenly quiet Training Center. He snapped his head towards the sound and cursed himself for being so off his guard. Seifer Almasy leaned nonchalantly against the chain link fence, his clapping as sarcastic as clapping could get.

"Very impressive, Strife," he drawled. "Especially for this early in the morning."

His attitude reminded Cloud of Reno, except Reno pulled it off better. Almasy's crimes weren't technically his fault, but Cloud was beginning to see that he has paved the path to his take over.

_And you didn't? _

That wasn't Zack; the accusations never came from Zack.

_They say Seifer worshipped the Sorceress, what was it you held for Sephiroth? You would have killed Aeris for him and you _know_ it. Who are _you_ to place blame, failure?_

"…the hell are you, anyway? Some mutant?" The tail end of Seifer's sneered inquiry caught Cloud off guard.

A mutant? No, not anything so natural. But what could he tell the taller man? That he was a study in scientific failure, an unnumbered clone of a psychopath, and quite mentally unstable himself?

Almasy didn't seem the type who would believe him.

"No one can kill a Rex by themselves," Almasy continued, undeterred by silence. "Especially not _that_ easily."

Reno also wasn't this annoying; years on the streets of Midgar had given the Turk lessons in the proper time to shut the hell up. Almasy had obviously never suffered the sharp blows that came when people were annoyed at you for the simple act of talking.

"Well, I just did." Cloud was careful to keep his words calm and steady; Almasy would probably take bragging the wrong way.

_Come on, Spike. Knock some sense into this ass._

Even without Zack's urging Cloud wanted to. Seifer's words echoed with something of the bullies from Nibelheim, cocky and sure of their own strength, people who preyed on the weak and liked to point out flaws in others. If Cloud were still the Reject from Nibelheim Seifer probably wouldn't hesitate to knock him on his ass, and the smaller blond burned with the need to give Seifer a taste of his own medicine.

_He's suffered enough, _he tried to remind himself, but he didn't really know if that was true. Did Seifer regret his crimes as the Sorceress's Knight? When asked, Squall hadn't had an answer to that question.

"You know, you and the Chicken Wuss would get along. You're both _tiny,_" Seifer said, voice mocking.

Cloud hissed through his teeth at the insult to his size, which had always been a sensitive spot for him. Judging by the comparison 'Chicken Wuss' had to be Zell; the martial artist may have been short, but he was more finely muscled than Seifer was, and Cloud suddenly saw why Almasy had lost. The Sorceress's Knight evidently pathologically underestimated people.

He also didn't require Cloud's reply to keep on talking. "Really, I don't know why Leonhart is keeping me here. He told me a bit of the story, you know, and if _you're_ all that this 'great evil' could get, I'm not too worried."

Cloud had Seifer pinned against the chain link before he consciously knew he had moved. One hand was pressed just enough against the boy's throat to be threatening, and the other arm was held against the teenager's chest to prevent escape.

"You're lucky you're here," Cloud growled. "If Jenova got hold of you she would rip your mind apart. Every failure, every weakness, every insecurity and every hole in your arrogant defense would be paraded around in front of you for her to laugh at. If you want to leave, fine, you'd never be strong enough to survive what would happen."

"And you were?" Seifer's voice tried not to tremble, but the shaking in his body gave him away.

Cloud's laugh was short, bitter, and contained nothing of humor.

"No, no I wasn't. But luckily, you don't have to be sane to save the world."

And that was the fine line between them. Cloud Strife had lost his mind fighting and Seifer Almasy had kept his by giving in. Perhaps Cloud's quickness to crack under pressure and Sephiroth's mental touch branded him weak, but he had never, ever just given up. And that, that made him better than this arrogant military brat who Cloud held trapped against a Training Room fence.

That offered him some small comfort.

Cloud stepped away from Seifer and the so-called Knight attempted to gather up the dignity he pretended he'd never lost. Thirty seconds later Almasy was sweeping out of the room, arrogance in place and just as noticeable as the shocking white trench coat.

_Asshole._

"Ya."

Cloud went off to find something to kill.

•••

"Mother, he's here, I can feel him."

Glowing blue eyes behind golden bangs, regarding him with adoration and venomous hatred, a sword that bit mercilessly into Sephiroth's flesh with disregard to the fact that he was a god.

"Mother, Cloud is here."

Sephiroth didn't know how he knew that name so closely, so intimately. Cloud Strife should have just been 'puppet', a convenient thing to use and throw away. The puppet was a pretty little thing, a useful and entertaining object, but an expendable one that should not have been blessed with a name. Mother didn't want him to remember the names, the painfully short list of things that brought him obscure comfort. Cloud Strife, Zack Charon, and the bizarre whisper of 'Lucrecia' that always sounded in the back of his head.

_Forget them, my son. We have a new chance here. You will be my messiah, my god._

"Yes, mother."

It was easy to forget that list when she talked to him. Her smooth voice filled his mind completely and burned away any traces of what Cloud Strife might have, should have been.

_He seeks to draw you away from your path with distraction. He killed you once, did he not?_

Yes, Cloud Strife had killed him. How humiliating, for the Great General to be struck down by his own puppet, but full of irony, in a way. Sephiroth snickered to himself.

"I will come for him."


	4. Enter the Lunatic

Again, hugs and cookies and kisses to my reviewers, because I appreciate every bit of feedback very much. And much, much love to my beta, as always. And this is the chapter where we're starting to get right down to it, so do not ignore the following warnings:

WARNING! Slash (this means there's TEH GAY, folks, quite a bit of it), Het (The NON GAY. Hey, if I have to warn for one…), strong language, violence, shoddily written battle scenes, Really Strange Cross Video Game Couple, and general Cloud torture.

•••

Tifa wandered the halls of Balamb Garden, feeling acutely out of place. This cool, militarily efficient place reminded her too much of Soldier, and she just wished she could leave.

_No, I'm not running away, _she scolded herself.

She had faced down dozens of things more frightening than echoing metal corridors and merciless killers lurking behind the eyes of innocent teenagers, she wouldn't act like some terrified child now. Especially since the others didn't seem to mind; she couldn't let herself be the weak one. But the three of them had all been in some branch of the ShinRa military once (and wasn't that a sobering thought), so this was probably familiar to them.

Tifa hated it here, despite the welcome Selphie had tried to give her. She was a good girl, a nice girl, but she was a mercenary just below that exuberant surface, and would kill Tifa without a second thought if Leonhart gave that order. This place was everything the martial artist had grown to hate in her life, a place that bred no mercy, the sort of place that let Sephiroth fester like an infection.

Was there another Sephiroth living in those messy dorms, just waiting for their own Jenova?

She pushed open the door to the second floor balcony, suddenly hungry for fresh air and sunlight. She needed to get out of those taunting hallways. Tifa had not counted on someone sharing her retreat, but his smile seemed inviting enough.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey." His voice was confident, just shy of arrogance. "Needed to get out?"

Tifa hesitantly returned the smile. "It was just a little… stifling in there, is all."

He leaned back on the railing, his legs crossed at the ankles and a white trench coat falling in folds around his legs.

"You mean it was ten seconds from driving you absolutely batty," he said with conviction. "I know the feeling; I don't want to be here either. You're one of the ones from the 'other world'."

"Yes, Tifa Lockheart."

She extended her hand to him, and to her delight he didn't do something stupid like kiss her knuckles, but took it in a firm and friendly shake.

"Seifer Almasy."

"Oh."

Seifer snorted and rolled his eyes. "I see Leonhart has spread the tale to all of you. Feel free to run away screaming at any time."

Tifa remembered Cloud, hiding his pain and confusion beneath a thin veneer of arrogance after she'd found him at the train station, and it struck a chord in her. Seifer probably had very few friends here, and many enemies. Well, who was she to hold something she hadn't even witnessed against him?

"I'm sorry," she replied quickly, hoping her voice was pleasant. "I was just a little surprised."

•••

Irvine was nervous, which was a completely understandable emotion considering he was in the company of the most intimidating people he'd ever met. Vincent Valentine looked like he'd stepped out of one of those horror movies that Irvine would never admit scared him, and could the guy's eye color _get_ anymore creepy? What the hell kind of person had red eyes, anyway? That just wasn't natural.

Usually Irvine had the shooting range to himself; no one else in Balamb was currently specializing in sniping and gunmanship, so the only kids who came over here were the little troop of mini-gunbladers who had to work on their pistol skills. So when Valentine swept in, that blood red cloak swirling impressively behind him like he owned his own personal wind, Irvine had been a little more than surprised. He had been Officially Creeped Out, but at least the guy used a weapon. If he used a weapon, it wasn't likely he'd rip Irvine's throat out with his bare hand…er…claw.

Valentine turned his head slightly to look at Irvine, and the younger sniper swallowed nervously. The dark man could probably smell his fear or something nuts like that, just to make Irvine's life worse. The guy wasn't even using the ear mufflers the Garden supplied for the shooting range, which was really just plain stupid. Irvine had enough fun going deaf on the battle field from the noise of gunshots, he wasn't about to blast his eardrums more than necessary.

Irvine stared when Valentine began loading his huge ass shotgun, the thing was practically a cannon. It was, hands down, no exceptions, the most beautiful, most enticing gun Irvine Kinneas had ever seen. Selphie had long since gotten used to him lusting over firearms, and not even his beloved Exeter could stand up to that…thing.

"It's called the Death Penalty."

The brunette startled back slightly when Valentine spoke, his smooth voice barely above a whisper as he answered Irvine's unspoken question. The sniper took this as an invitation to speak.

"How do you handle the recoil on that thing?" He flipped the brim of his ever present hat up slightly so he could better gawk at the amazing rifle.

Vincent held up his claw. "This hand is stronger than my other; the kick back is no problem."

Irvine whistled quietly. What he wouldn't have given for an aid like that when he'd had the Bismarck, the gun had had the habit of making his hands go numb after extended periods of use. Then again, claw arms probably weren't a painless thing to obtain, and Vincent didn't exactly speak of it with fondness - more like a detached disgust.

"Ever sniped with it?" Irvine asked, curiosity completely overcoming his fear.

"I have not been a sniper for a very long time," Valentine admitted.

"Eh, I haven't had many chances since the whole Sorceress thing. Just became a full SeeD, but I've done a few jobs…" Irvine was painfully aware of his own babbling. He had a tendency to go off on long rambling tangents when agitated, he still remembered the embarrassingly corny speech he'd given the girls that first day on the train.

"I heard the story," Valentine offered. "Your hesitation makes you human."

"Does it ever go away?" Vincent would know what he meant. The guilt when you saw someone completely unsuspecting slump over dead, not even given a chance to fight. Irvine always came away from a snipe job feeling like he was going to throw up, and if he was alone he sometimes did.

"No." Valentine paused, as if considering his words. "Not really."

Irvine hesitated for a second, reloading the gun he was using for practice.

"Good," he whispered past the sudden lump in his throat.

There were a few things he would not give up for SeeD, and one of them was his humanity. The two gunmen spent the rest of the time in the shooting range in comfortable, if not exactly companionable, silence.

•••

"Would you be able to find him?" Quistis asked.

Cloud shook his head, spiked hair swaying slightly with the movement.

"Sephiroth will find me, if he wants. It doesn't work the other way around," he confessed.

Quistis was awed for a moment about how young Strife looked. She knew, of course, that he was in fact older than her by a few years, but his large eyes in that small, fine boned face must have always cursed him to look a little younger than he actually was. The fact that he was dressed in a pair of jeans from Squall that had to be rolled up at the ankles, and a t-shirt from Zell that kept threatening to slip off his shoulders didn't help. He wasn't even wearing shoes, padding around in his socks and saying that it made him feel more comfortable.

It made her maternal instincts want to cuddle him, but she had the strong feeling that he'd object. Rinoa would probably latch onto him eventually, and if she was lucky they'd both make it out of the experience with all limbs and Squall's sanity in tact.

And of course, the large sword he always had with him completely ruined any childish image.

"Isn't that…dangerous?" She questioned hesitantly.

Cloud shrugged with one shoulder. "He's always dangerous. But he probably won't blow this place up out of hand; he seems to like me alive." His voice became thin and slightly strained towards the end of the sentence.

"And if he does come for you?"

"I'll do my best." He didn't elaborate, he didn't have to.

Quistis sighed and tapped a pen against the edge of her desk, gnawing on the inside of one cheek in a nervous habit. This was looking worse and worse by the minute, with no end to the decline in sight. She searched her brain for more pertinent questions, trying to dig up that tiny bit of information that would lead to some sort of marvelous epiphany.

"What do you think of Seifer?" She knew the question must have seemed utterly random.

The blond swordsman snorted derisively, and he rolled his eyes. It was a slightly out of character action, as was the slouch he suddenly adopted. Cloud Strife was truly an enigma.

"He's an asshole. If Sephiroth does target him, it'll be as a distraction or bait, nothing more. He's too arrogant by far, and it'd be a waste of time to make him a good…clone…minion…whatever." Cloud waved his hand around slightly in a dismissive gesture.

"Then we can…" She started.

"Don't release him from Garden," Cloud interrupted. "He's still a loose cannon and could screw everything up if you don't watch him."

Quistis nodded, and scribbled a little memo about that on a post-it note. She always remembered things if she took the time to scribble them down on post-its, that was the way her mind worked.

"Squall would be happier that way; he doesn't trust Almasy at all," she told Cloud.

"Like I said, he's an asshole and a screw up."

The instructor remembered that all too well from her days forced into Seifer's company. The man had a special ability to rub absolutely everyone the wrong way, no matter what he did. He delighted in it too, toying with everyone to piss them off and garner a little amusement from their temper tantrums. Strife had had the right of it; Seifer was nothing but the basest level of asshole.

"How long do we have before Sephiroth knows exactly where you are?"

"He already does." Cloud got a far away look in his eyes. "He always knows where I am and what I'm doing."

Which was just a little creepy, in Quistis' opinion, but she didn't comment. Instead she relayed her orders from the Commander. "Squall and Rinoa want to talk to you, but they're out at lunch right now. You wouldn't mind coming in later, would you?"

Cloud shrugged, and Quistis chose to take that as an affirmative.

"How are your companions settling in?" She asked in an attempt at familiarity.

Strife simply shrugged again. "They're fine, I guess."

He stood up abruptly and left, Quistis blinking after him with a slightly perplexed expression on her face.

•••

Cloud was on his way to that meeting with Leonhart and his girlfriend when the semi-placid day was violently interrupted. There was a shrill ringing as the alarm sounded through the halls, but all the SeeDs stayed remarkably calm, as if emergency procedures had to be done everyday. Cloud, for his part, unsheathed his sword and ran towards the entrance, his stocking feet making no sound on the metal floors.

It might have been human once, the thing standing at the doors, but it wasn't now. For one thing, humans generally didn't ooze nor have razors attached to their limbs. The monster looked like a Jenova test subject gone horribly, terribly wrong. A warning, perhaps?

The thing made the first move, screeching like a banshee as it charged Cloud, ignoring the few SeeDs who had arrived in the lobby. Cloud dodged backwards and deflected one of the monster's razor arms with his sword, cursing as he realized he'd forgotten his arm band and its materia. The only things hooked into the Ultima Weapon were support magic and a summon he didn't particularly want to release indoors. Ah well, he'd defeated worse with less before, this was just going to be a pain in the ass.

With inhuman speed it slash another arm at his face, and he brought his sword up just in time to protect his eyes, though the blade of the monster skittered down the metal and cut deeply into Cloud's cheek. The pain was ignorable, the blood a small nuisance. Cloud brought his sword down, and then swung heavily, catching the thing on the flat of Ultima and sending it crashing into a decorative stand.

There was a heavy gunshot crack and Cloud turned his head slightly to see Leonhart standing there, the strange gunblade leveled at the monster, pistol still smoking. The brunette wasn't even looking at him, steel blue eyes narrowed to a single focus, the threat to his Garden. The creature, for its part, was gaping down at the bloody wound in its stomach like it didn't quite know what had happened. Cloud stepped back as Leonhart charged, content to let the teenager have his victory.

There was a mutated head on the floor within the next thirty seconds. Squall was good.

Something flickered at the back of Cloud's mind, something horribly familiar. Leonhart turned to stare at him as he dropped the Ultima Weapon down to the ground, the sword ringing against the metal floor as it escaped from suddenly numb fingers. Cloud's hands dug lightly into his hair as he whimpered, pain pounding in his temples, pain because he'd dared to attack something Sephiroth had sent, but more because he'd allowed himself to be hurt by such a pitiful thing.

And then Sephiroth was there, teleporting with one of his favorite little tricks right in front of the blond so that Cloud had no choice but to look. This god among men, this deity shoved among mortals like a swan pushing against the crows, beautiful and deadly and everything Cloud wanted and despised. Leather clad fingers on his cheeks, tilting his head up to connect his gaze to chilling green eyes. Green like the lifestream, green like Aeris's eyes, Aeris's eyes that he loved.

Loved? No. He loved green eyes, but not hers…he…

Cloud felt like a teenager again, awed in front of the Great General. Sephiroth stroked his injured cheek in an almost gentle gesture that made the healing wound burn slightly with pain.

"My pretty little puppet."

The blond had thought he was free of this, the pull towards this immortal wonder, the need to obey every word whispered in that velvet smooth voice. But he would never truly be free of that compulsion, because he fed it with his own need.

"You have come to challenge me."

Cloud wanted to open his mouth, wanted to say something heroic about how he was going to kill Sephiroth again, wanted to scream at the silver haired villain, but found that his voice wouldn't obey him. A sudden burst of sickly green magic, and Cloud was thrown against metal walls, his head ringing with the impact as Sephiroth stepped towards him and snarled.

Leonhart seemed paralyzed, in awe or fear or both.

"You cannot even _think_ of challenging me."

_Small little blond, amazing even as a trooper, so much more mature than most of them coming into Midgar with high hopes and dreams ready to be crushed. He'd failed Soldier, come back in two years, but he'd caught Zack's attention. Zack who collected lost humans like some people collected stray puppies, making friends with others most wouldn't even touch._

Sephiroth shook his head, silver hair drifting around his face. Zack was inconsequential; Cloud…the puppet was worth not much more than the dead man. But Sephiroth could never kill him, could hurt him and hit him and make him bleed, but could never, ever stop that determined heart from beating. It was confusing and infuriating and wonderful all at once, the challenge of the beautiful little marionette trying to cut its strings.

"You are mine," Not gloating, a statement, the simple and inescapable truth.

"No…" The puppet was staggering to its feet now, weaponless and devoid of magic, captivating like a shining butterfly before a child rips off its wings. The rebellion in its voice was seductive as the matchlessly attractive blue eyes.

Mother did not like him thinking such things, but Mother in all her glory and wisdom could still never understand the lure his puppet held for him. It was a challenge, and so very few things challenged him now.

"You follow me here to this world; you bring companions in your impertinence, and gather more allies about you. You should have come alone, and sought me only. I will rip them apart in front of you, for you do not belong to them."

"I don't belong to anyone!"

One of the other ones, the disposable ones, snapped out of its shock and charged towards Sephiroth, strange weapon raised in a foolhardy attack. Sephiroth sidestepped the weapon, and wrapped his elegant hand around the human's throat, lifting it off the ground. It was almost as small as Cloud, but nowhere near as attractive, though its mind was filled with many twists and horrible little secrets.

"You are like ants charging at a mountain. Mother and I will crush you with ease."

This world was lovely and green, and its lifestream untouched by humans who had discovered other means of getting by. Sephiroth would grow so powerful here, and mother would have herself a new body, and they would rule for eternity with an iron fist and Cloud kneeling before his everlasting throne.

Sephiroth tossed the useless mortal aside, the thing skidding across the floor before smashing into a walkway railing with a little grunt of pain.

"Sephiroth…" His name like music from the puppet's lips.

Sephiroth spread his hands wide and grinned an awful grin. "I will come for you, My Puppet, and we will be together forever in the ruin."

And with that, he was gone, leaving only a monster corpse and many befuddled humans behind him. Cloud Strife dropped to his knees and tried very hard not to sob. He knew he was shivering, could see his hands shaking as he balled them into fists and tried not to remembered the touch of leather on his skin and the pain as Sephiroth knocked him into the wall.

So many things wrong and so few ways to fix them.

Strong arms under his shoulders, hauling him to his feet as the scent of nicotine invaded his nose. Cloud hadn't notice Cid arrive, and that was a bad sign since the pilot rarely did anything with stealth.

"Hey, Spike, stay with us."

Cloud wanted to throw up, with his head pounding and Zack silent like death in the back of his mind. A second pair of hands, the cold metal of Vincent's claw arm, joined Cid's in holding him up before the world went black.

"Or not…" Cid tried not to sound worried, but it wasn't really working.

The others had gathered near the entrance, though most of them had only caught the tail end of Sephiroth's little lunatic fiasco. Leonhart was staring at them, shock written over features that for once showed his emotions plainly as his breath came in slight little rasps.

"That was what we're fighting?"

"Sephiroth? Ya, that's the fucker," Cid glanced down at Cloud, supported between the pilot and Vincent. "Kid wasn't ready for it."

"No one was ready for it," Vincent corrected softly.

"But none of the rest of us has to go through a grade-A mind fuck every time that bastard shows up."

The rest of Leonhart's team seemed at a loss for words, until Irvine summed up the situation quite nicely. "Well, fuck. I think we're screwed."


	5. That one time with the dress!

Cloud watched as Tifa left, her footsteps heavy with anger. He shouldn't have snarled at her, but her questions…

_'Are you okay, Cloud?'_

_ 'Did he hurt you, Cloud?'_

_ 'What does he want with you, Cloud?'_

And she wouldn't understand that nothing was okay, and he had always been hurt, and he didn't know what Sephiroth wanted with him. She tried, damn her, she tried so hard to help him and couldn't fathom that he was beyond her kind of help.

_Spike._

Cloud was angry at Zack too, as amazingly difficult as it was to be angry at someone who existed only inside his head. Zack knew _everything_, he just wasn't telling any of it.

"Go away," Cloud murmured, too tired to make the effort it required to talk to Zack inside his head.

_This isn't going to get you anywhere, you know._

"That's okay; I didn't know where I was going in the first place."

In a way, this was all Zack's fault. The dead man could just tell Cloud about the past, and Cloud's confusion and anger would disappear. However, Zack steadfastly refused. There are some things, he said, that Cloud wasn't supposed to remember until he was ready to handle them without having a nervous breakdown. Cloud didn't know what he could remember that was worse than his childhood and Nibelheim, and decided that Zack was just being belligerent.

_Nice to see you have faith in me, Spike._

Cloud sighed and turned his head towards the one small window in 'his' dormitory, watching the endless ocean to distract him from Zack's disappointed tone. He remember the first time he'd seen the ocean from the old boat that had taken him from Costa Del Sol to Junon as a teenager, when he'd been so intent on following his dreams. He'd spent the trip huddled in his bunk trying not to puke.

Heh, just like now.

_Cloud…_

The blond could just imagine Zack standing in front of him, eyes narrowed and arms folded across his chest as he tapped his foot. Zack had always looked like that when he was exasperated with anyone, from the mess hall workers to the General himself, and Cloud had been on the receiving end of that stance more than once.

"Go away," Cloud grumbled half heartedly.

_Can't, I'm a part of you 'till this whole thing…stops, I think._

"You were never quite so talkative before." Cloud's complaint was unenthusiastic at best.

_Ya, well, they're not even aware of the fact that lifestream exists on this planet, so they've never tried to bother it before. There's more energy going to one dead guy –yours truly- than there was back home._

"Must be boring as all hell, in my head," Cloud said.

_Nah, not really. You're a strange kid, Spike, but you're damn interesting. _

"I'd be more interesting." Cloud glared at the space he imagined Zack to be standing. "If you'd tell me what's going on."

Now Zack would have run his hand through his hair and sighed, his eyes closed.

_Spike, I can't, I just can't. I want to, but…Hey, tell me something. When Sephiroth's around, what do you feel?_

"Terrified." The blond hesitated. "Angry?"

_Well, under all that 'He's the Terror of the World' crap._

Cloud buried his face in his hands, trying to think. There _was_ something, he knew, something Zack was right to hint at, but subconsciously Cloud was too frightened to face it. Maybe Zack was right in not telling him about the past, maybe Cloud _wouldn't_ like what he found.

"I always…I wanted to be like him." Quick flashes of almost-memory. "I admired him, and when I finally met him…you introduced us, after I failed that test in Planet Studies. We drove around in the jeep, you loved that car more than was healthy, I think. And…a few months and…"

Damn it, he couldn't remember! There were stupid insignificant things in his mind, now. Zack had owned a jeep he'd painted maroon himself, and was terrified of snakes. Sephiroth was allergic to peanuts, slightly lactose intolerant in the mornings, and got tetchy if he had to go a day without reading a newspaper. But damned if Cloud knew _how_ he knew.

"I hate this," he declared.

_Sorry, Spike, but this is one of those things…its gotta fix itself._

"I don't want to wait that long, Zack. I'm sick of waiting, I'm sick of not knowing! How the hell can I do this if I don't even know how I should _feel?_"

_It'll come back to you; you just gotta give it time. You know you can't recover from what happened _that_ easily._

The swordsman sighed and lifted his head; Balamb Garden was nearing lush green land. Cloud appreciated the scenery, even living in Kalm it had been hard to find such truly untouched beauty, Midgar's taint had reached everywhere on his planet.

"I wish you and Aeris hadn't died," he whispered.

_Heh, don't worry kid, death's not as bad as it seems. I'm here to help you one way or another, right?_

"Still, I…"

Cloud hurriedly cut off his words as the door to his room whooshed open on mechanical hinges. He blinked at the martial artist framed in his doorway, glad it wasn't the one that had stormed out earlier.

"Yo," Zell greeted warmly. "What're you doin'?"

Since 'talking to my dead best friend who lives in my head' didn't seem like an answer he should be giving, Cloud just shrugged.

"Thinking," he said evasively.

Zell waved a hand. "You shouldn't do that too much; look what it did to Squall! Speaking of my brooding commander, him and Rin wanna see you."

Cloud sighed and slipped off the bed, for once pulling his boots on. He'd taken to the habit of not wearing them, because the echoing sound they made on the metal floors defeated any chances at stealth. However, he had finally worked to mentally convince himself that he didn't _need_ to be sneaking around; there weren't any giant corporations out to get him anymore.

The silence that followed as Zell led Cloud down the corridors was almost stifling. Cloud knew he probably didn't have much in common with the other blond. Zell seemed to be eternally energetic and passionate, if not always cheerful, and he had two things that Cloud failed at achieving – a place in an elite fighting force, and a job as a mercenary. The bitter resentment that Cloud tried hard to quell really killed conversation.

But, he was a guest here, and gaining true trust meant talking to them. After all, it didn't hurt to try.

"So." He groped for an important question. "Rinoa isn't a SeeD?"

Zell looked over his shoulder for a moment.

"Nah," Zell said. "Don't tell Squall I said this, but Rin just doesn't have it in her. She's willing to fight for the right cause, but she doesn't like _fighting_, and she wouldn't be able to really kill in cold blood, especially not for pay."

Cloud honestly hadn't expected that sort of observation from the seemingly air headed Zell, and made a mental note to stop underestimating the martial artist's intelligence. However, it was proving a good time to gather information.

"Then why does she stick around?" Cloud asked.

"She loves Squall, at least now she does anyway. I love Rin like a sister, and I don't wanna say anything bad about her, but I don't think her and Squall are going to be able to put up with each other much longer. But they'll be good for each other while it lasts." Zell looked over his shoulder and caught the slightly bewildered looking on Cloud's face. "Heh, surprised?" He flashed a grin. "I may not look it, but I'm more than just a pretty face."

The swordsman found himself smiling in amusement despite himself. Zell was annoying, to be sure, but it was very hard not to be fond of the martial artist; he just had charisma in spades. Zell stopped in front of one of the Garden's plain metal doors, and punched in the codes to make it slide open. Cloud, blinking into a dorm room only slightly better furnished than his temporary one, realized that this was Squall and Rinoa's living quarters.

"You know their room code?"

"I occasionally have to drag him 'home' from his office when he passes out over his paper work." Zell snickered and ushered Cloud into the dorm before waving cheerfully and departing.

Cloud heard Squall walking towards the small reception space before the Commander was in the room, followed by the softer steps of Rinoa.

"Strife," Leonhart said, his voice clipped and business like.

The blond was really, really beginning to dislike Squall Leonhart. Cloud may have been certifiably crazy, but at least he didn't have a stick up his ass…well, not most of the time. Only when it was necessary. And if it was necessary a lot, then it wasn't his fault. Cloud gave himself a little nod, which he hoped Squall took for a greeting.

He took a brief moment to notice that Squall had bruises on his neck where Sephiroth had grabbed him…Cloud had an irrational sense of something that he hoped to whatever gods existed wasn't _jealousy_. He was fucked up enough without getting mad at Sephiroth because he was hurting people other than Cloud.

"You put my Garden in danger." Leonhart's voice had a hard, dangerous edge to it. "You drew him here."

Cloud shrugged, artfully pretending he didn't care. "He would have made his way here eventually, as a military force you'd be in his way."

Squall looked like he wanted to say something unflattering, but Rinoa laid a hand on his arm and he backed off. Zack wanted Cloud to smirk, but Cloud decided he wasn't quite that pissed off or suicidal. Yet…

"Cloud," Rinoa started, and he flinched. He didn't like Squall, but it was Rinoa that made him uneasy. She was like Aeris and Tifa wrapped into one person, and he had had enough problems dealing with them _separately_, much less both at once. "I think," she continued, not noticing Cloud's reaction. "That Squall is angry because you didn't…" She paused, trying to choose her words carefully. "You didn't really fight Sephiroth very much."

The blond hissed through his teeth, half out of anger and half out of denial. He had fought! They couldn't understand how hard he fought every damn minute when Sephiroth was anywhere near him!

"Well, Leonhart learned where fighting Sephiroth gets you." Cloud made a pointed gesture toward the Commander's bruised throat.

"You beat him once," Squall retorted, the cool apathy back in his voice. "Somehow."

"Ya, well, I'm not exactly normal," Cloud snapped bitterly.

He was prepared for the raised eyebrows and the looks they shot him. Their knowledge of Cloud's condition was limited, they knew he had undergone 'treatment' to make him stronger and faster than average, but they certainly weren't aware of the whole of it.

_Freakfreakfreakfreak, _the Not-Zack voice chanted.

"Look, a normal human, any of your SeeDs, going up against Sephiroth alone?" Cloud struggled to sound normal. "That's suicide, I don't recommend it. I don't care how many evil girls with magic you've defeated, this is _different_. He's not just enhanced, he's…" Perfect? Cloud balked at describing Sephiroth that way, though at one time that had been all he'd thought of the General. When the proper adjective was not forth coming, he gave up on trying to find it. "Look, next time he's not going to settle for just injuring you. He'll break your neck or something."

_Or he'll get you to do it, Private Strife. _The blond wished Zack would chase the other voice away.

To Cloud's surprise, Squall actually looked thoughtful.

"And if we go up against him as a group?" Leonhart asked.

"It's still." The blond inhaled deeply. "It's still likely that some of you may die."

Like Aeris, red against pink against silver as Sephiroth drew the sword out of her body, treating the beautiful flower girl with all the respect a hunter gave sub par prey, while Cloud stood helpless less than five feet away. That kind of dying, the kind that Cloud suspected the Commander didn't yet understand.

"Which one of you will be the most helpful if it comes down to a real battle?"

"Me. Vincent, if he…" Cloud trailed off, uncertain Vincent wanted his other 'forms' revealed to these people unnecessarily. "Vincent. Cid and Tifa don't have anything that most humans don't, but they're both vicious fighters and they've faced Sephiroth and Jenova before. If it comes to it, those two take the monster Sephiroth seems to be able to spawn, and Vincent and I head straight to the source."

So matter of fact. Find him, kill him again. Cut deep into faultless muscle and flesh, drawing blood that he hadn't thought would be red. Perhaps green, like mako and poison…

The SeeD Commander narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with Valentine?"

Shit. He'd noticed the hesitation in Cloud's voice.

"That's for Vincent to tell you," Cloud said. "If he feels like it. Just don't piss him off."

•••

"That's not right," Seifer said.

Tifa shrugged lightly, inwardly surprised at Seifer's vehement statement. She'd been outlining to him a sketchy history of her world, from the founding of Shinra onward, and she'd just reached the Wutai War.

"Shinra was selfish; they wanted a land monopoly." Her voice turned cynical. "World domination."

"There's no honor in it," Seifer muttered darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The teenager's customary trench coat was slung over the railing of the small area behind the training center, and the tank top he wore left his muscled arms bare. Tifa took a guilty moment to enjoy the view before continuing.

"There was no honor in that company at all," she explained. "They killed thousands of people in one blow for no reason other than they _felt_ like it."

Seifer had astounded Tifa over their short association. For a man everyone discredited and scorned he was strangely wrapped up in honor and romantic ideals. She wondered sadly if that had made it easier for the Sorceress to twist his mind around to what she wanted. After all, if Seifer had thought what he was doing was the reputable thing…Cloud had never thought he was doing the right thing.

"So this Sephiroth guy, he led the Shinra Army to victory?" Seifer asked.

Tifa nodded. "Became a 'hero' because of it. The Great General. Got in all the newspapers, Cloud was enamored with him, wanted to be just like him." She looked down and blushed. "We used to laugh at Cloud for that, for his dreams."

Seifer raised an eyebrow, blue-gray eyes curious. "You and the little blond weren't always all buddy-buddy?"

Tifa winced; he certainly didn't have a tendency to mince words.

"It was a small town," she said. "Our parents judged Cloud and his mother because she wasn't married, and well, I guess the prejudice spread over to us. All he wanted was a _friend_ and I was so awful to him." She hugged herself slightly. "He was like the village punching bag. Physical _and_ emotional. It was so, so horrible."

"Well, that would explain why he's so messed up in the head," he said without really thinking.

It was Seifer's turn to wince as Tifa sniffed slightly, obviously trying to hide the fact that his words had upset her greatly. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair.

"God, don't do that." He hated it when girls cried. Rinoa had cried to get her way when they were 'dating', and he still had trouble thinking of it as an unselfish action.

"I'm being dumb." Tifa sniffled. "You're only telling the truth, and I'm a grown woman."

Seifer was, for once in his life, at a loss. This sort of thing had definitely never come up with _Fuujin_ before and there was no preprogrammed Seifer Response ready and waiting to be used.

"Well-" He faltered slightly, then forced the arrogance back into his voice. "That's what kids do. They're mean to each other. Not your fault he was too unbalanced to deal with normal kid shit."

Tifa shook her head, brown hair swinging behind her.

"That…wasn't normal. I always feel like everything is my fault, and when I try to make it up to him." She scowled through her tears. "He chases me away!"

The blond snorted, suddenly back into familiar territory. "You know, I think Cloud chases you away because he's not exactly into what you can offer."

She sat up straighter and stared at him, surprise evident in her eyes.

"What?" She demanded.

"I followed the Sorceress 'cause it was my dream, ya, but along the way I also fell a little in love with her. Cloud looked at your big crazy guy the same way I used to look at the Sorceress."

"That's," she sputtered, trying to grasp the right words. "It's _Sephiroth_. Even if Cloud was –which he isn't-, he hates Sephiroth!"

"Has he ever actually sad that?"

Tifa paused for a moment, and bit her lip. "Not in so many words, no. But Cloud killed him, or at least, he tried to."

Seifer shrugged.

"Sometimes," he told her, "You gotta do what's necessary, whether you want to or not. And you have to admit your little blond friend is kinda fruity."

Tifa gaped for a moment, and then suddenly was overtaken by irrepressible giggles.

"Well, there was this one time with Aeris and this dress…"

•••

"Highwind, I don't smoke."

"Hey, never too late to start."

Squall sighed. He'd wanted to talk to Valentine about a few things that had been bothering him about, well, Valentine. There had been a few hints that there was something _wrong_ with the man; Cloud being unwilling to leave him in the infirmary, the blonde's hesitation on the subject earlier, Valentine's own physical appearance…

Having Highwind around for the conversation didn't seem like a smart thing to do, but the Commander figured beggars couldn't be choosers and this was close to alone as he was likely going to find Valentine for awhile.

The two were sitting on the second floor balcony, Vincent perched expertly on the railing and Cid wedged into one of the corners with a cigarette dangling from one finger, both arm on his knees. For a pair of people that Squall had figured would rub each other entirely the wrong way they looked extremely comfortable around each other. The brunette cleared his throat, gaining identical raised eyebrow looks from the two men.

"Valentine, I wanted to talk to you," Squall said.

Vincent cocked his head to the side, dark eyes revealing nothing. "Then speak freely, Commander."

"I have reason to believe you're not being entirely truthful with me," Squall said, ignoring Cid's snort. "I want to know what Strife won't tell me about you, Valentine, and I want to know if it's a danger to my Garden."

It wasn't in Squall's nature to be intimidated by much, but Valentine was nearly ethereal, and that was enough to set him on edge. Humans should not have eyes that looked that disconnected from reality.

The dark man shared a sardonically amused glance with the captain, and then turned back to Squall, shrugging elegantly.

"I control it as best I can…" The silence at the end of his sentence managed to be more morbid than the statement itself.

"Control _what_, Valentine?" Squall demanded.

"The physical manifestation of my sins." Vincent's tone was as bland and uncaring as if he'd been discussing the morning paper. "Mostly Chaos, these days." The brunette raised an eyebrow. "Chaos?"

Vincent leaned forward, and Squall half expected his cynical smile to reveal fangs.

"The monster inside my head, Commander," he whispered eerily. "If you're lucky, you'll never have to meet him."

Squall just barely stopped his eyes from widening at the foreboding ring to Valentine's voice.

"Vin, stop fucking around with the kid," Cid said.

Cid was secretly impressed with Vincent's little display. It wasn't often Vincent chose to acknowledge his sense of humor, but when he did it was dark and almost cruel. It'd probably helped to make him a good Turk, who else could laugh in the face of the end of the world? Vincent had finally gotten sick of being gawked at by every teenager in the damn Garden, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

If that required scaring the shit out of their Commander with the threat of Chaos, then so be it. Hell, Squall should be honored. Not many people living had seen Vincent being 'humorous', though Cid was treated to it almost too much for his liking.

Vincent shrugged again.

"Just telling the truth, Highwind," he said.

The pilot barely suppressed a snicker as Squall turned on one heel and walked back into the Garden.

"Wanna smoke, Vince?" Cid asked, offering Vincent the pack he always carried in his goggles.

"_No_, Highwind."

•••

"Quistis?" Rinoa poked her head into the nearly empty classroom as the last student hustled out, busily adjusting her uniform in an attempt to look like a Real SeeD. Rinoa had never understood what drew the students here year after year, putting their life on the line for…what? Money? She'd asked Squall once, and his answer had left her cold inside.

_"For fighting." He shrugged. "For winning and adrenaline. And sometimes, killing. We offer legal murder Rinoa, and as tough as it is to face some people need to kill."_

"Yes?" Quistis looked up from grading papers momentarily, and tucked a strange of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears. She looked every inch the competent military official.

"Can I talk to you?" The younger girl eased herself into the room, and at Quistis' nod sat down at one of the student benches at the front of the room, fiddling absent mindedly with the buttons on the computer consol, "Can I talk to you about Squall?"

Quistis' eyebrows shot up momentarily in surprise, but she nodded again.

"What's on your mind?" She asked.

"Has Squall seemed…" Rinoa hesitated. "Distant, to you, lately?"

"He's had a lot to deal with," Quistis said. "But I saw you two talking the other day."

The brunette bit her lip and sighed. "Yes. Maybe I'm just imagining things, but he never seems to want to do…relationship stuff. Like dates."

A snort of laughter escaped Quistis, despite her attempts to muffle it.

"Rinoa, this is _Squall_ we're talking about," Quistis said patiently. "The ice king. The only time I've seen that boy having fun involved a bottle of vodka."

Rinoa wrinkled her nose at the reminded of _that_ particular debacle, and made a mental note to find Zell and hit him for it. Again. Because he really, really deserved to be hit for it. Shaking her head slightly to banish the unpleasant memories of her drunken boyfriend, she continued her original train of thought.

"But I wish he would!" She exclaimed. "We're teenagers, Quistis! We should be doing fun things like going out to dinner and a movie."

Quistis almost hated to be the one to further shatter Rinoa's innocent outlook on the world and life in general. Almost, but not quite. As much as the instructor hated to admit it, she still felt some underlying resentment for Rinoa because of Quistis's own failed attempts to woo Squall. She had been foolishly love struck, and now realized what a silly school girl crush she'd had on Squall, but it was hard not to feel like she'd lost to Rinoa.

"He's a Commander now; he doesn't have time for dinner and movies," Quistis pointed out. "Or the inclination. You can get Squall to open up and show his emotions, Rin, but you shouldn't try to change his personality."

"I'm not!" She protested. "But a girl likes to know she's loved, every once in awhile."

"Squall has his own odd way of doing things," Quistis said.

"…how do you manage to answer questions without really answering them?"

Quistis gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It's a gift."

"Irvine and Selphie go out on dates all the time and they're mercenaries," Rinoa argued, returning the discussion to its original course,

"Irvine's a natural born social romantic," Quistis informed Rinoa as she graded test papers. "And they have just as many problems as you and Squall do. Irvine still has a wandering eye, and sometimes he can't keep up with Selphie's exuberance. All couples have these rough spots Rinoa; you just have to decide if yours are worth living with."

Rinoa frowned, suddenly not quite sure.


	6. I think this qualifies as an oops

_My puppet, my boy, wake up…_

Cloud stirred from his cramped, uncomfortable position. His eyes were open, wide and unseeing as he stared into something not quite there.

_They're trying to undo everything we've gained. Will you let them?_ The voice whispered into his mind and brushed against his thoughts like silk.

Everything? But he'd - they'd tried so hard, but wait…Cloud, he was Cloud, Cloud had killed Sephiroth and…

_Don't worry about that now. _The woman's voice, now, the alien's. Soothing, it cradled him like a mother rocking a child.

_You will have a place at my feet. _Sephiroth.

Cloud mouthed the name, mind full of awe and ecstasy.

_You are mine, and they are insects under my heel. Kill them. Kill them._

Kill them.

Cloud slipped out of the bunk, not minding that he was wearing nothing but a pair of old soldier-issue pants, not noticing the icy chill of the cold tile floor on his bare feet. His movements nearly mechanical, he slipped on his armlet and grabbed the Ultima Weapon before stepping out into the hallway.

The leader, first. Chop off the head to kill the snake.

_Good boy._

The blond stopped in front of Squall's door and regarded it with glazed eyes, trying with the little part of his brain that was still allowed to function to remember what the code Zell had entered in. Then he snorted. Screw codes. His power was Sephiroth's; they didn't need to worry about such puny security measures. He powered up a level three thunder spell, placed a hand on the keypad, and jolted the electricity into the system until the door slid open. Who said the direct approach never paid off?

A shock of surprise registered vaguely in his mind when he saw that Leonhart was not asleep, but looked to have just rolled out of bed and grabbed his gunblade. Cloud snarled at Leonhart, rage filling him suddenly. Some punk teenager playing Commander at life when he didn't know, couldn't know, how _dare_ he think that he knew what pain and suffering were, how dare he judge Cloud? Cloud knew; saw the scorn behind gray eyes every day, because Squall thought he was Crazy. Leonhart couldn't have made it out of what he did alive, the basement and the pain and Zack and Aeris and Sephiroth.

Cloud wanted to rip him apart and _show_ him pain. Unending, burning pain that made you wish you were dead, but no one was merciful enough to just fucking shoot you. Right between the eyes, bang, killing shot, that's all she wrote. Something Cloud had never, ever been given.

"What are you doing, Strife?" The commander had settled his body into an attack position, and now Rinoa had sat up in their tiny bed, pink nightgown rippling around her as magic gathered in her palms.

Pink dresses stained with blood, magic and laughter and flowers. Teasing, gentle and soft.

Why was Rinoa alive, who was she to smile and breathe when Aeris was rotting away in a lake somewhere?

_Kill her._ Not Sephiroth, all Cloud. The dark bits of his brain surging forward.

Yes. Kill her first and make the boy playing at manhood watch, make him feel what he thought he knew. Cloud clenched his sword hilt and ran toward her, almost too fast to see, swinging the Ultima Weapon down as she shrieked and threw up a shield spell.

"Break!" Squall's voice was frighteningly close to panic as he cast the spell.

The blond snarled as the petrifaction spell hit him, freezing him for a split second before his ribbon kicked in and negated the effects. This nearly inconsequential moment was enough for Rinoa to dive off the bed and for Squall to punch the pad next to his door and scream "SEEDS!" into it, his call echoing out over the PA system.

Any sane SeeD in the Garden, especially Squall's team, knew there had to be a damn scary reason for their leader to _shout_ things over the loudspeakers at two in the morning. The response would be almost instantaneous.

_Hurry._

Squall swung his weapon up and over, and though Cloud dodged to avoid the blade he felt a bullet lodge itself in his side, felt the blood pour from the wound down his hip and leg. He howled like a trapped animal and swung the Ultima Weapon, the tip opening a gash in Squall's chest. No good, it was too shallow, the commander would survive.

Cloud raised his sword to strike again when something hit him from behind. Stronger than a human should have been, faster and quieter to have avoided Cloud's notice. The blond tumbled forward, flinging the Ultima Weapon away to avoid impaling himself on the huge sword. The thing that had knocked him over struggled with him for a moment, and Cloud managed to flip himself over to stare into red eyes and the barrel of a gun.

Vincent had the smaller man's arms pinned to the floor with one hand, a knee digging into Cloud's abdomen; confused and wounded, the blond wasn't in any state to fight back. Valentine clicked the safety back on the small peacemaker he usually carried.

"Sephiroth, let him go," Vincent ordered.

There were SeeDs standing in the doorway now, and Cid and Tifa. Vincent didn't particularly _want_ to splatter Cloud's brains across the floor in view of so many people, but…

"Let him go or I _will_ kill him."

The dark man noted distantly that he was speaking with Chaos's rough, growling voice, though his body remained unchanged. Good, if his friendship with Cloud tried to get in the way of what he might have to do Chaos wouldn't have any such qualms.

"Why do you think he matters to me?" The thing in Cloud's body asked.

Cloud's voice, however, was simply Cloud's voice, though it spoke in a cynical, arrogant tone that Vincent wasn't used to hearing.

"If he did not matter to you, he'd be dead before this. Now let him go." His finger tightened on the trigger,

"How honorable of you, Valentine," not-Cloud snarled. "But I'll leave him to clean up this mess, for now."

Cloud stopped struggling, glowing blue eyes rolled back into his skull.

Vincent accepted the hand up Cid offered him, holstering his gun. The blond pilot nudged Cloud in his side, not too concerned that he was getting blood on his socks.

"Kid needs somebody to get that bullet out before he heals around it," Cid said.

Rinoa turned around from whispering a high level healing spell over Squall's wound, the gash in his chest closing cleanly without much evidence of it having been there.

"You want us to heal him?" Rinoa's voice quavered.

Cid shrugged. "Ain't the kid's fault the fucker got in his head. Shit, we should've been more careful."

Tifa watched in silent shock from the doorway. Squall turned his gaze from the man lying in a puddle of blood on his bedroom floor to Vincent.

"Would you really have shot him?" He asked.

"Yes." Vincent's tone left no room for argument. "Cid is right, we should have watched him closely, but we've been used to letting our guard down."

Cid knew Vincent must have been stretched thin if he was calling him by his first name. Traditional Wutai upbringing had pounded into the ex-Turk that first names were too affectionate and familiar, and he only broke that mental rule under great duress. Well, might as well spare him the rest of the dirty jobs. Cid bent down and scooped the smaller blond into his arms, grumbling mentally about how he was going to need a shower after this.

"I'll take him to his room," the pilot declared, slipping easily into the attitude he adopted when he wanted his crew to do something, and have it done five minutes ago. "Get your doctor to it so she can get that bullet out."

He couldn't give them time to think, because once they started thinking about it, they'd have everyone kicked out of this Garden so fast Cid's head would spin. So Cloud was a little fucked in the head? Who wouldn't be? And the Sephiroth problem…

Well, they were solving that, weren't they?

Squall was staring at him, every inch the confused teenager. Cid swore vehemently under his breath, but he knew how to deal with teenagers. He stared at Leonhart levelly.

"I told you to get something done, kid, get it _done_," he snapped. "Or do you like standing there gawking like a moron?"

Squall must have recognized the military officer tone of voice Cid usually saved for his crew. The commander grabbed a white tank top off the back of his desk chair and tugged it on before slipping past everyone in his doorway to go fetch his doctor. Cid nodded, satisfied with himself, and followed the Commander out the door. The SeeDs and Tifa parted dutifully for him and Vincent, skittering away from Cloud's bleeding form, and their actions left a bad taste in Cid's mouth.

•••

Cloud awoke slowly to the stinging taste of bile and blood on his tongue, the hazy memories of what he'd done a horrible mental punishment before he was even truly conscious. He'd been trying, really trying, to make sure they had no reason to doubt him or his comrades, to give them no need to suspect. Cloud didn't want to hurt them; he wanted to _help_ them.

But now they thought he was insane.

And there was no denying that Cloud Strife was severely fucked in the head, but hadn't he been hiding it just ever so well? But god, now they were staring at him and now they _knew_, knew he was so damn _wrong_. Failed, twisted, _wrong_.

But if he was going to cry, he wasn't going to do it in front of them, hell no. Their accusing eyes, and he did deserve to be accused, would never see him in tears. He felt like a child again, curled up in a corner of his bed and trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes because he knew, god he just knew, that pain was going to come again.

They had hated it when he'd cried; they'd kicked and punched him harder. Hated being reminded that he was something human and alive and emotional and _loved_.

There was no mother to come to him with hugs and icepacks now. He was a grown man, wasn't he? All grown up, Cloud, supposed to be saving the world. How the hell could he save the world when he couldn't even save his own mind?

Vincent sat on the end of the bed, Death Penalty's safety was off but Cloud didn't know who Vincent was prepared to shoot. Cid was more comforting, obviously a guard dog against the SeeDs, Venus Gospel held in a deceptively loose grip as he leaned against the door frame smoking a cigarette. Cid wouldn't let even Vincent hurt Cloud, no matter what.

Cloud didn't know where Tifa had gone. She was probably afraid of him again.

The blond wondered idly if Leonhart was afraid of him now, if even cheerful, friendly Zell and naive Rinoa would look at him with terror printed on their faces. They were certainly staring enough, standing just behind Cid and gawking at Cloud like he belonged in a fucking freak show before the pilot told them unequivocally to fuck off.

_Shitshitshit_ He was crying. Couldn't even pull himself together and act like a twenty one year old for five god damned minutes, could he?

_Spike?_Zack sounded tired and strained, as if he'd been pushing a rock up a hill. Impossible, of course, considering Zack didn't have a body to push a rock with, but still…

_I am so goddamn sorry, Spike, they had me blocked. I couldn't stop it._

"Couldn't stop me."

Cloud no longer cared that someone might hear him talking to Zack, talking to himself. They already knew he was insane; why not give them more undeniable proof? Vincent and Cid didn't even flinch, though Cid's brows furrowed down as he frowned worriedly.

What had Cloud done to deserve such loyalty, such trust and respect? Highwind had stuck with him through the end of the world because the pilot hated Shinra with a soul tearing rage, but what had kept the gruff man around afterwards? And he'd kept Vincent around with him; the one member of the party Cloud had expected to disappear after the whole thing was over and done with.

It wasn't pity - both men were above following someone around out of simple pity. It sure as hell couldn't be Cloud's amazing leadership skills, which often bordered on barely competent.

_I_ _dunno, you can be pretty good at the rousing speeches and dispensing orders and what not when you really put your mind to it. Brilliant plans and such._

"No, you were, I just stole it from you."

Zack gave a soft mental snort. _Cloud, I couldn't lead a chicken out of a wet paper bag half the time. All the brilliant plans were Sephiroth's; I just cheerfully made my men follow orders. I had charisma, but not leadership skills. You and Sephiroth, however, have no charisma to speak of._

"That's heartening, thanks."

_I try, really._

"I know you're smirking, stop smirking."

_You wound me with your accusations, sir._

Cloud buried his face in his hands and chuckled, trying to mask the fact that he was laughing. He could practically feel Vincent rolling his eyes, and that just made him laugh harder. Suddenly, Squall and his SeeDs didn't seem so damn important or intimidating anymore. He'd faced down the most malevolent evil in history, killed a mad scientist, and he had the loyalty of two of the most competent men he knew, how the hell had he been intimidated by a bunch of kids playing at heroes?

There was still the matter of Tifa, however. But she'd been inside his head, seen the darkness there, surely she'd forgive him, because she knew. He'd find her later, after she had time to think things over, and he'd apologize and things would be alright again.

"Vincent?" He raised his head from his hands, and caught the other man's gaze.

"Strife."

"Thank you." Cloud attempted a weak smile. "For what you did, I know it…wasn't easy for you, I think, but its nice to know that someone likes me enough to be willing to do that."

Vincent blinked, which was for Vincent enough of an expression to show that he was absolutely floored. For a moment he stared at Cloud, trying to determine what the proper response to that just might be.

"Vin says you're welcome," Cid offered.

Vincent graced Cid with a semi disgruntled look, but Cid just smiled at him. Cloud almost envied them and their sound partnership, one that had no masks or excuses, though he'd heard them argue and he didn't ever want to be caught between an angry ex Turk and a stubborn pilot. Is that what Tifa thought she could have with Cloud? A relationship without pretensions?

She was living in a dream, more than he was.

•••

_"Spike, if you don't turn off the whiny music I'm going to put the buster sword _right_ through that radio."_

_ Cloud opened one eye to glance at the Soldier who had stormed, unannounced, into the trooper's cramped quarters. The blond certainly didn't think his music was 'whiny' so much as 'murderous', but he obligingly turned off the stereo. _

_ "What's wrong, Zack?" Any other time he might have made a bitchy comment about this being _his_ room, and he could listen to all the melodramatic rock he wanted, but Zack looked truly perturbed. Irritating Zack generally involved chocobos and small nuclear explosions._

_ "Stick up his ass son of a bitch ice general," Zack growled. "'Friendship is enough of a liability, Charon, much less…'"_

_ The Soldier trailed off, and looked at Cloud as if he'd just noticed his subordinate and friend was in the room. At least Cloud knew what was bothering him now, and he expanded his list a little - chocobos, small nuclear explosions, and General Sephiroth. …did he even have a last name?_

_ "Does he have a last name?" Cloud asked._

_ Zack blinked, momentarily stunned out of his anger. "What?"_

_ "The General." Cloud still couldn't bring himself to call the man Sephiroth, not yet. "Does he have a last name?"_

_ "Spike, I like you and all, but you are so god damned random sometimes," Zack said._

_ "And you're not?" Cloud asked._

_ The dark haired man thought about that for a moment. "Completely beside the point, I'll have you know."_

_ Cloud finally turned his head to focus all of his attention on his friend._

_ "There was a point?" His voice was lazy, he'd just come from P.E. and he didn't have the energy to work up anything more excited than a sort of vague nonchalance._

_ Zack flopped down on the end of the trooper's bed and pulled off his boots, his face regaining its disgruntled expression,_

_ "I was talking to Sephiroth, and I told him I wanted him to meet you…"_

_ Cloud shot upright and barely managed to avoid trying to strangle Zack. Well, that had woken him up from his exercise induced stupor, and he had the horrified feeling that his face was bright red._

_ "Zack!" He managed to choke out. "You didn't!"_

_ The Soldier grinned wickedly._

_ "Mentioned you were damn cute, too," he declared cheerfully. "Which started him in on his stupid little speech, which involved him calling me by my last name, which he knows I hate, so I started calling him 'Sephy' and it just degraded from there…"_

_ Cloud was too busy trying to suffocate himself with his pillow out of the sheer mortification of it all to care._

Cloud stared at the ceiling of his dorm, running the new dream-memory through his head again and again, savoring it. It was good to know things were coming back to him, assured him that he was close to being complete again. Whether or not he would like what he was completed was not the question, it would still be _him_, punk teenager from Nibelheim who got beat up a lot and liked ridiculously bad rock music.

Though he figured he could deal with not getting beat up anymore.

Vincent and Cid had left him hours ago, though Cloud had the suspicion that at least one of them was sleeping against his doorway to make sure one of the SeeDs didn't try to exact a simple kind of justice. No one would be able to kill Cloud, of course, but the last thing they needed to add to the situation was a severely wounded teenager.

He mentally replayed the dream one last time, committing every last bit of it to a new memory, and then sat up and glanced out the window. Dawn, the time of reckoning. Well, time of showering and explaining what the hell was going on in his head, anyway. Cloud had a feeling he may have destroyed the tenuous alliance they had formed with the SeeDs, but when Sephiroth called…

…his puppet answered.

Cloud swallowed thickly and fought to recall his newly found joy from the memory, and the fortitude against the SeeDs he had summoned up the night before. He, as a rule, hated confrontation. Confrontation always seemed to end in broken bones and bruises.

He forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom, and frowned at the mirror. He was paler than usual from blood loss, though there was no longer any other evidence that he'd been shot. Outwardly, at least - his muscles were sore as all hell, and it kind of hurt to move. Deciding against a shower, as today was one of those days where he'd probably only result in half drowning himself, he picked one of his borrowed shirts up off the floor and pulled it over his head. Yesterday's jeans were bloodstained and filthy, but he couldn't summon up the energy to change them. Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable only made the spikes worse.

"You," he told his reflection matter-of-factly, "Look like shit, Strife."

_Nah, the red in the blood really brings out the glow in your eyes._

"Shut up." Cloud smirked at the mirror, amused despite the situation. "Charon."

_You._Zack paused for emphasis. _Are _mean_, Cloud Strife._

"Yup."

He pulled on socks and boots then opened the door, sighing at the sight of Cid and Vincent playing a game of war in the hallway in front of his room.

"Don't you two have anything better to do?" Cloud asked.

"Nope," Cid answered, frowning as Vincent collected the cards between them. "Too damn jittery to sleep. Keep thinking someone's gonna pounce on us."

"I'll see Highwind gets some sleep now," Vincent assured, taking the remaining cards from Cid's hands and stacking them neatly into the pile. "Don't worry. You should go smooth things over with Leonhart."

Cloud nodded to them, and left them behind to bicker about whether or not Cid needed to go to bed. He was really, really not looking forward to this.

•••

"Tifa?"

The martial artist stifled a completely irrational disappointed sigh at the fact that the voice behind her was female, and certainly not Seifer's. She hadn't seen the young man since he'd led her away from Squall's earlier, and gently deposited her into her own with orders to sleep off her shock. Orders Tifa hadn't followed. She turned her head to nod a greeting at the girl who'd stepped out onto the balcony.

"Good evening Rinoa," she said. "It's a little late, what are you doing here?"

Rinoa stepped forward to stand next to her at the railing, fiddling absently mindedly with a ring that was strung around her neck.

"Are you okay?" Rinoa asked, ignoring Tifa's own question.

Tifa blinked, momentarily speechless before she regained her voice.

"Am _I_ okay?" Her voice was incredulous. "Rinoa, are _you_ okay? Cloud tried to kill you." Tifa winced at the frankness of her own words.

Rinoa shrugged. "I'm fine, Squall's fine, and I suppose Cloud must be fine, though I get the feeling it'll take more than a good night's sleep to fix him. But I wouldn't know, I don't love Cloud."

The older woman stiffened and just barely stifled her instinctive glare and vehement denials. She hadn't expected Rinoa to be so uncannily perceptive about her emotions.

"Cloud…" Tifa sighed. "Cloud never quite forgives himself for these…fits. But he can't help it, I know that."

Rinoa rested a hand on her arm, warmly familiar despite their short acquaintance.

"At least the rest of you are forgiving him, he has that," she said.

"Well, if he drives himself crazy again it won't be worth much," Tifa grumbled, surprising herself with her own anger at the situation. "And he barely ever lets us help! The only time he's ever opened up to me he was half-vegetable. And I love him!"

Rinoa looked at her, and the girl's tone was world weary.

"Have you ever considered he might not love you?" She questioned.

"But…" Tifa hated herself for not being able to come up with any defining Cloud Loves Me moments.

"I've been talking to Quistis," Rinoa confided. "And she says that sometimes people who have been hurt deeply attach themselves to the first person who shows them true, unselfish kindness, whether or not they love them. Like kicked dogs."

She had her fingers clenched tight around the ring now, as if trying to imprint the feel of it on her skin, and Tifa had the feeling they weren't talking about just Cloud anymore.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Rinoa smiled crookedly. "It's never been paradise, with Squall torn between his duties and loving me. And I always seem to come in last place."

"Well, you're young," Tifa said. "You have time to work it out. Or not work it out and find someone else, that's what being a teenager's for."

"I suppose." Rinoa looked sadly defeated.


	7. Quistis, Master of Deductive Skills!

Tifa, looking for Seifer, found Zell instead. The quad was nearly empty, it was too early and too cold for most of the occupants of Garden to drag themselves out of bed, but there was Zell. His shoes were missing, bare feet scuffing over stone and grass as he danced forward and back in time to an opponent only he could see. Coat and shirt lay abandoned in a pile in the corner that probably covered his missing sneakers, and Tifa could see the thick black lines of a tattoo that covered nearly his entire back.

That had to have hurt, when he first got it.

He turned and aimed a punch at space that should have been air but had recently become occupied by Tifa's face, and she raised her arm in an instinctual block. Zell grinned at the gesture, a powerful and wild smile, and Tifa settled her weight in a familiar martial arts position.

And so they danced.

At the end of it Zell had a bruise on the cheek opposite his facial tattoo and the beginnings of a black eye. Tifa suspected she was going to have bruising up and down her left side, because she'd always been awful about leaving it open and he'd gotten in more than a few good kicks.

Zell collapsed onto the still dewy grass, not minding that he was half naked and it was cold as all get out. Tifa sat down next to him, too sweaty to mind getting her pants wet, and just realizing that she probably really needed a shower now.

"So," he chimed. "Stressed?"

"Worried," she conceded, but didn't elaborate. After all, she barely knew him beyond what Cloud had told them, and that amounted to pop music and following around Squall.

Huh, he had a tattoo on his ankle too, more swirling black lines. Was the boy a masochist or what?

"Well, I would be too with what you're going through." He sounded infuriatingly nonchalant. "Though if I had a crush on Seifer I'd probably shoot myself in the head."

Tifa turned to stare down at him.

"Are you insane?" She demanded, quite seriously.

"We're watching you," Zell sing-songed. "But honestly, what you see in that asshole is beyond me."

"He's hurting." Tifa defended Seifer without even realizing. "And none of you are even giving him a chance."

Zell snorted. "He's Supreme King of the Assholes, lady, just warning you. Believe me; I've known him since we were like, _six_. And he's been a rat bastard all his life. Just because for a little while it wasn't his fault he was a rat bastard doesn't make it any better."

Tifa opened her mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again when a voice rang out from the entrance to the quad.

"Zell?" Someone called.

Zell stuck a hand up in the air and waved lazily.

"Yo," he shouted. "Over here, baby!"

It took a brave man to call Squall Leonhart baby, it took a strange one to survive the experience.

Squall didn't quite stalk over to them, his movements always too liquid to be described as 'stalking'. He nudged Zell's shoulder with one heavy leather boot and rolled his eyes.

"We have a meeting with Strife this morning, genius," he said.

Zell raised his arms and spread his hands in an innocent gesture, looking up at Squall with wide blue eyes. "But now I'm all stinky. Oops, can't go."

Squall walked over to where Zell had shed half of his clothing, and threw the blonde's shirt on his face.

"You're coming." his tone left no room for argument. "I don't care if you smell."

Zell made a face but pulled his shirt over his head and crawled to the pile to retrieve his jacket and shoes. He looked less fierce now, more like a bouncy, over excited teenager than some tattooed exotic…which, Tifa supposed, was how he was supposed to look.

"Why does Zell have to go?" She knew she was being nosey, but if it involved Cloud it was her business.

"I'm not bringing my weapon to the meeting as a show of good faith." Something told Tifa this hadn't been Squall's idea. "But I'm not about to trust your leader. Zell _is _a weapon."

Zell looked up from lacing his sneakers.

"Are you always such a drama queen, baby? 'Cause I'm flattered," he quipped. "'But if you are, its no wonder Rinoa has to whine about you to Quisty."

Squall turned around to stare at Zell, his eyebrows raised in the most shocked expression Tifa had seen on him yet. The blond martial artist paled, and Tifa had the feeling he'd just blurted out something he wasn't supposed to.

The commander bent down and hauled the shorter by up by his elbow, scowling.

"We'll talk about that later." His words were clipped. "Right now –"

"Meeting, meeting, ya I know," Zell grumbled, and then looked toward Tifa and smiled. "Nice match, Miss Lockheart."

Tifa nodded to him, made another sincere mental note to take a shower, and then watched with mild bemusement as they left.

•••

Cloud shifted uncomfortably under the stare of the three teenagers, resisting the simultaneous urges to say something catty or bolt. Squall was quite obviously peeved about something, rolling a pen back and forth on his desk and glaring fit to kill at either Zell or Cloud, whoever he decided needed it more at the time. Quistis yawned hugely, adjusting the clipboard that sat on her knees and looking like she'd rather be anywhere but awake.

"Kept awake last night, Quisty?" Zell teased easily, and then dodged quickly out of the way as Quistis flicked a pen at his head.

Squall dropped his forehead to his free palm.

"The businesslike attitude permeating this room just _astounds_ me," Squall drawled.

"I smell like a pigsty, you're sulking, and Quistis is wearing someone else's shirt, how much dignity do you want from us?" Zell asked facetiously.

"I am not _sulking_," Squall snarled, but Zell merely continued to look innocent.

Cloud used every ounce of his self control to clear his throat, instead of bursting into laughter like he really wanted to. The commander's attention snapped back to the swordsman immediately.

"Strife." Leonhart tried to look like he hadn't just been bickering with his pseudo secretary. "You tried to kill me."

What did he want Cloud to say? 'Sorry about that, just the friendly neighborhood psycho catching up with me'. He'd rather just write a brief note of apology and do away with this talking and meetings thing.

Social skills were not his forte, especially when he was sitting opposite someone he'd tried to murder. He cast his eyes downward, suddenly finding his boots amazingly interesting and feeling like a ten year old again.

"It's my fault," he admitted. "I should've known better than to think he'd leave me alone."

"Well." Squall sounded much older than eighteen, tired. "You did warn us this might happen."

Cloud shrugged. "That's no excuse. This is my fault."

"Not everything's a loss," Zell interjected brightly. "I learned some interesting new curse words from Captain Highwind."

"Congratulations," Quistis said, clapping slightly.

Cloud wondered briefly how Squall managed to put up with this sort of thing twenty four seven without throwing somebody out of a window. The commander cupped his hands over his mouth and nose in a gesture of exasperation and exhaled deeply, obviously counting to ten somewhere in his head.

"Zell." his voice was slightly muffled, but no less intimidating. "Can you be serious for just ten minutes?"

Zell sighed and flopped down into the last empty chair in the room, crossing his legs and leaning forward to prop his chin on his palms.

"Fine, fine," he said. "I'm all paying attention and ready to strike and what not."

Squall raised his head and dropped his hands to the desktop, pointedly ignoring the fact that Zell was muttering about being a ninja under his breath.

"Strife, does this happen often?" Squall asked.

Cloud forced himself to meet Squall's eyes, trying to remind himself that he was just as good as, if not better than, this punk commander.

_Well, you're certainly prettier!_

_ Zack, your idea of a pep talk needs slight revisions._

"Usually I fight it off." By some supreme act of will he kept his voice steady. "I just wasn't prepared for him to be this powerful. He's supposed to be injured but…I suspect he and Jenova have been feeding off the untouched lifestream of this world."

This all would have been so much easier if he could just conjure up the attitude that had come to him so easily when he'd first met Avalanche, but having access to the rest of his memories made it harder for him to be so cool and cocky for long periods of time.

"Feeding?" Quistis questioned hesitantly.

"Well, not _exactly_, but…" Cloud made a vague hand gesture and ran his fingers through his bangs before continuing. "He sort of absorbs it into his body, and it makes them more powerful. Like I explained before, that's what spurred the whole crashing a giant rock into the planet thing."

Squall frowned. "Why would he want you to kill me and Rinoa?"

"You're important here, you lead one of the only groups capable of resisting him, and your team would be a lot less effective without you." Cloud hesitated, then forced himself to carry on. "Rinoa wasn't exactly Sephiroth's target, but I…"

"You?" Squall's voice was dangerously calm.

"She reminded me of someone I…" Cloud stumbled over his words, trying to find the proper way to describe his relationship with Aeris. "I loved her, in a way. She died, and I was there…and I guess seeing Rinoa when I was like that, it made me angry." Understatement of the year.

Quistis checked her mental encyclopedia of everything Cloud had told them in his visit, and matched up the details with the highly impersonal recounting of his 'adventures' on his planet.

"The Cetra girl – the one Sephiroth killed," she said.

Cloud nodded and wiped sweaty palms on his jeans.

"Shit." Zell exhaled. "Can't say I blame you."

Squall narrowed his eyes and turned his head to glare at Zell, who held his hands up in a gesture of placation.

"Hey," he defended. "If you watched somebody kill Rinoa, you'd probably be a little sensitive about the subject too. And Cloud hasn't tried to hurt her when he was in his right mind, and he hasn't put the moves on her either."

Cloud chuckled despite himself.

"You don't have to worry about it," he assured. "It's a long, complicated story, I only thought I loved Aeris, but it was something else. And I wouldn't direct _that _misguided attraction to your girlfriend."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," Squall muttered, looking down at his desk again, but there was a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Squall thinks everyone and their mothers are after Rinoa," Zell confided. "It's 'cause she used to date Seifer."

"Zell!" Quistis snapped, trying her best to look disapproving.

Cloud's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"How could anyone stand to be around Seifer for more than five minutes, much less date him?" he asked incredulously.

"Rin's like a force of nature, man, when she wants something, she gets it. She probably had Seifer waiting on her hand and foot." Zell smirked slightly. "Though your friend Tifa may have fallen prey to the asshole's…assholeness."

"Huh?" Cloud hadn't noticed _that_.

"Zell." Squall was talking through gritted teeth. "This is a serious meeting, not a gossip circle."

"Yes sir," Zell muttered mostly to his shoes as he stared at the ground to avoid displaying the fact that he was snickering.

Squall leaned forward across his desk, staring straight into Cloud's glowing eyes.

"Listen to me Strife," Leonhart said. "I don't trust you, and I don't like you, but I'd rather have you here than have you somewhere where I can't watch you. You're now under the same rules as Seifer – no weapons, no magic, no armor, no leaving unless you're accompanied by one of your companions and at least two SeeDs."

Cloud narrowed his eyes. "You expect me to hand my sword over to you and go unarmed?"

"Hand your sword and those materia over to Valentine. I may not trust him much either, but I trust his actions. As for going unarmed, well, I'll let you have something small from the armory. Not a firearm, nothing longer than your forearm."

Well, if nothing else, Squall knew how to drive a hard bargain. Cloud nodded, not really seeing any other way out of it.

"Fine," Cloud snapped.

"Good. Later today I'll have Irvine show you to the armory, but you can cool your heels for a little while and hand your weapons over to your comrade."

"Yes _sir_," Cloud drawled sarcastically.

•••

Cloud stopped walking and turned when he felt Zell's stare on his back, mako enhanced instincts screaming that he was being watched. Quistis and Squall had already gone on, and the hallway was empty except for the two blonds. The swordsman cocked his head to the side in a simple inquisitive gesture. He didn't know what Zell wanted, but he was carefully avoiding pissing anyone off.

Zell approached him, steps less bouncy than what Cloud had come to expect from him. It took quite a bit for someone who was two inches shorter than even Cloud to look intimidating when staring up at someone, but Zell managed it. Even with a black eye and a bruised face (where had he gotten _that_?), he managed it.

"Look." The martial artist fiddled with his gloves, the leather creaking ominously. "I like you; despite the whole psycho thing I think you're a good guy."

Cloud wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he settled for shrugging helplessly.

"But," Zell continued, "You ever try to hurt Squall again and I'll snap your fucking neck, you got me?"

He was still smiling, which made for a rather bizarre effect. Despite the threat on Cloud's life, Zell's protective nature was almost sweet. Something Cloud could understand, in a bizarre way.

"Believe me, I try to hurt him again and you'll have my permission to snap anything you'd like," Cloud assured.

Zell bounced up on his hells, abruptly cheerful again. "Alright, cool."

And then he was gone, running toward the dorms – hopefully for a shower.

_Methinks someone has a crush on their fearless leader._ Zack snickered.

"Great," Cloud muttered. "I've been shoved into the middle of a teenaged soap opera. Complete with love triangles."

_Isn't life grand, Spike?_

"Marvelous. I'm giddy."

•••

Tifa supposed she was doomed to never find Seifer, though all the gossip she got when she asked after him was certainly interesting. By turns she had been assured that he was pure evil, sex appeal made human, and woefully misunderstood. No one had known exactly where he might be, but one girl in the library had told her that if she found Fuujin and Raijin, she'd probably find Seifer. Unfortunately, Tifa had no idea who Fuujin and Raijin _were, _much less how to find them.

Luckily, Fuujin found her.

Tifa had been sitting at one of the tables in the back of the cafeteria, poking listlessly at a slightly wilted salad and trying to figure out why it was so damn hard to find one person in one Garden. It wasn't like Seifer didn't stand out in a crowd, flaunting his very presence to everyone in the room. It was a good thing Tifa found his brash attitude somewhat endearing, rather than annoying, or she probably would have punched him long before now.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Tifa turned to meet the penetrating gaze of one blue eye. The girl withdrew her hand and continued staring at Tifa, as if trying to peel away her outer layers and look straight at the martial artist's inner most thoughts. It was, to say the least, kind of creepy.

"Yes?" Tifa asked, carefully keeping her tone neutral.

"Looking for Seifer?" The girl asked.

"Yes," Tifa confirmed warily, though she suspected that this was one of the people she'd been instructed to find.

"I am Fuujin," the girl supplied. "Follow."

The girl didn't seem to expect any answer other than immediate obedience as she turned and started walking away, not even giving Tifa time to clean up her trash before the brunette had to scramble away from the cafeteria bench and jog after her. Tifa found herself becoming irrationally worried about the state of her clothing, though it was the nicest outfit she'd managed to salvage from the cast offs the other girls had offered her.

_Are we fourteen again?_ She thought sarcastically. _Get it together, Tifa, he's just some teenager._

Who Zell thought she had a crush on…which was really a juvenile term, and if she did happen to have some more than platonic feelings for a teenaged boy she'd just met, she wasn't about to call it a crush.

And she was babbling mentally, she realized as she gnawed distractedly on a piece of her hair.

It was probably just her maternal instincts acting up again or something. She always wanted to protect and shelter those who had hurt, those who had suffered. And if Seifer hadn't suffered under the Sorceress's treatment, her name wasn't Tifa Lockheart. Besides, he seemed to have inspired loyalty in somebody, if what she'd heard about Fuujin and Raijin was true. Not that Fuujin had said anything on the subject, or much at all, really. Tifa watched the back of the silver haired girl's head, and wondered if Fuujin ever said much on _any_ subject. Or talked in complete sentences, for that matter.

These SeeDs had to be the strangest bunch of young people she'd ever met, and she'd known some damn strange people in Midgar.

Maybe she was just looking for someone to channel her affections to. As much as it hurt her to admit it, she was losing Cloud, if she'd ever even had him to begin with. She wanted, needed, to talk to him, to tell him that she loved him and that she was so goddamn sorry for everything she'd ever done to him, and everything that she'd stood back and let happen. But more than anything she was afraid that if she initiated that conversation she'd have to hear the word she dreaded – No.

He'd loved Aeris, hadn't he? What was she next to the memory of that gentle, beautiful flower girl?

Not that she'd ever thought of it as a competition. She and Aeris had been close friends, if teasing in the way that close friends sometimes are. Cloud had been a matter of interest for both of them, but they wouldn't let a possibility get in the way of something that was turning out pretty concrete. Tifa missed her; after Nibelheim she hadn't had many female friends her own age.

"Here." Fuujin gestured toward one of the dormitory doors, cracked open so that it could be pushed the rest of the way without the room code.

Well, moment of truth or…something.

•••

Once you got used to Vincent Valentine he looked human, your gaze slid right over the claw arm and the unnatural color of his eyes. Quistis cursed the measure of complacency she'd allowed herself, she'd gotten far too used to seeing him stalking down the halls looking a little like a bat, but mostly like a slightly harassed man in a cape.

Stupid.

The voice he'd spoken in last night had _not_ been his own, it had _not_ been human in anyway. It sounded more like Diablos's voice than anything else, and that did not comfort Quistis in the slightest. She'd concentrated on Cloud and his secrets, pinpointing the blond as the leader and thus the most dangerous. Though Cloud remained the leader in her mind he was at least willing to share the information they needed to know, while Vincent seemed to have no such inclination.

Quistis liked to know things, preferred to have the world stored in neat little facts in well typed outlines, filed away in the drawers of her head. She thoroughly enjoyed having the world make sense, especially after the time compression incident.

Vincent Valentine was beginning to make no sense at all.

The instructor steeled her nerves and approached the dorm room they'd assigned to Valentine, knocking firmly on the metal door. She startled backwards when the door opened and she looked up not into Vincent's face, but Highwind's.

The pilot had been given his own room, what was he doing in…oh.

Quistis smiled slightly, amused. "Good Morning, Captain." He'd told them to call him that, punctuating his 'request' with swear words Quistis hadn't known existed.

"Whadyafuckinwan?" he growled at her, his eyes bleary with sleep.

It took her a moment to translate his question ('what do you fucking want'), and she did her best to look stern and pleasant at the same time.

"I was looking for Mr. Valentine," she said.

Highwind scratched at his stubble and looked momentarily thoughtful, obviously trying to fight through his sleep fog to figure out where Vincent might be. Quistis had no idea why he was still sleeping at this hour, and in his jeans no less, but she decided it would be impolite to ask.

"Vin ain't here. Said something about -" He yawned, and his jaw cracked. "Something. I forget. Now damn it, they bitched at me to sleep and I'm gonna sleep."

Quistis quickly found herself facing a shut door and frowned testily at it. Captain Highwind certainly was not a morning person.

"Excuse Highwind," a smooth voice interrupted her consternation. "He hasn't had his morning cigarette and coffee yet."

Quistis whirled, pressing one hand against her mouth to stifle an involuntary yelp, the other going toward her waist, where her whip would be had she been carrying it.

Vincent Valentine quirked one impeccable eyebrow at her.

As if to accent her point about underestimating him he looked even closer to normal today than he usually did. He'd shed his cape for some reason and his bandana had been pulled off his forehead and used to tie his hair into a high ponytail, making his fine boned face visible. If you ignored the fact that one of the hands holding a steaming coffee mug was gold and pointy, he looked like any other vaguely amused gentlemen out to get breakfast.

"Do you ever make noise?" She snapped, and then winced at the immature tone of her voice.

"Not if I can help it," he told her matter-of-factly. "Now, if you would not mind knocking again, I find it rather difficult to input a key code with no hands."

He held up his arms to display the fact that yes, his hands were quite preoccupied balancing two mugs of coffee and a bag of croissants.

"The Captain might object," Quistis said.

"He'll get over it," Vincent assured, as unwound as Quistis had yet seen him. Rather talkative this morning, as well.

Quistis shrugged and rapped obediently on the door.

"Fucking hell don't you people have anything better to do than bother…" Highwind trailed off, blinked. "Morning, Vin."

"Pleasant disposition as ever, Highwind," Vincent drawled, moving past both blonds into the room, handing Cid a cup of coffee as he did so. "Now would you mind terribly explaining why there's an irate young lady standing outside our doorway?"

So maybe Valentine wasn't so bad when he wasn't being creepy as all get out.

"Fuck if I know," Cid groused, flopping down on the rumpled bed and grabbing a croissant out of the bag, somehow managing to do this, keep a hold on his coffee _and_ light a cigarette all at the same time.

Impressive multitasking.

"I had wanted to talk to you, actually, Mr. Valentine." She felt slightly awkward calling him that; he certainly wasn't a _Mister_, but…

"Call me Vincent, please."

Damn it, she'd come here to question his humanity and he'd been nothing but polite and sociable, if slightly passive aggressive. What she wouldn't give to be able to forget the voice that had come out of his mouth.

"Vincent, then." She squared her shoulders. "I've come to discuss the incident with Cloud and Squall."

Highwind spared her a suspicious glare out the corner of his eye, but Vincent continued to look completely at ease. Here was a man who could probably dominate a situation if he so chose, just by remaining imperturbably calm while everyone else was running around like a chicken with their head cut off.

"And?" he prompted.

"I like to understand things, Vincent." She had to make herself sound like a professor, not a student, their equal. "And while I admire what you did for Cloud last night, I do not understand what happened to _you_."

Valentine sighed and looked slightly put upon.

"I have already explained this to your Commander," he told her, sounding somewhat aggravated.

Quistis was mildly shocked. "Squall hadn't said anything about it."

Cid snickered, Vincent simply offered her the bag of croissants and she took one gratefully.

"So." He sounded affable again. "I hear you're an instructor here?"

To Quistis's surprise, they spent a good chunk of the morning talking about completely inconsequential things. She left that room convinced that, no matter what monster had taken over Vincent's voice and perhaps his actions that night, the man was nothing less than a thinking, feeling person.


	8. This has been a Bad Day

Squall had never thought himself particularly possessive, unless you counted attachment to his gunblade; he was the type who could just cast off everything he owned and go blithely on his way. So it had surprised him, at first, the sheer force of protective feelings for his Garden, his SeeDs. _His_, completely and unequivocally.

Sometimes he felt guilty for loving this place more than he loved Rinoa. But he knew, deep down, that Rinoa would go someday; trying to keep her here among mercenaries and murderers wouldn't be good for anyone, and eventually it would get to her and she'd run back home. The Commander loved her, yes, but he'd never fooled himself into thinking that this was where she belonged. She was charming, and beautiful, and breathtaking, but she was still young, and she belonged back in Timber enjoying what little adolescence she had left.

_Way to sound like a forty year old_. He snapped cynically at himself, wondering at the morbid path his thoughts had decided to tread.

He blamed Zell, as absurd as it sounded to hold Zell guilty for any sort of depression. It was Zell's fault for relaying Quistis's conversation with Rinoa over to Squall, Zell's fault that these things were once again on the forefront of his tired mind. And it was Squall's fault too, for refusing to be blind, for refusing to ignore the fact that he could not keep her.

Squall was sharply reminded why he had spent most of his teenaged life carefully avoiding people in general and romance specifically. Oh, romance was nice in theory and sometimes in practice it was warm, fuzzy and oddly completing, but more often than not it was a gigantic headache and very much confusing. Maybe it was just Rinoa, but more than likely it was his own fault.

The suspicion was nagging at him that he should probably talk to Ellone about this, as she was the one who was good with emotions, but she was in Esthar. Esthar meant Laguna, and dealing with his father was not a task Squall was ready to tackle right then. He had enough difficulties in his own domain without chucking a scatter brained President into the mix.

It figured that as soon as he was actually willing to talk to somebody about his 'deep emotional feelings', there was no one around who was qualified. Quistis, being Rinoa's confidant, was struck off the list, and the others were well meaning but…Zell and Selphie tended to be overwhelming in their desire to help, and Irvine would no doubt have some sarcastic, drawled solution that involved sex and actually had nothing at all to do with the real problem.

And the only other people who Squall didn't outrank exceedingly were Strife's group. He didn't bother biting back the short bark of cynical laughter that followed that thought, and Zell's music across the room paused momentarily as the blond tried to decide if his commander was going insane or needed coffee or something.

The silence stretched for a few minutes, and when it finally became awkward Zell snapped the radio back on, pop music once again flooding the office in a sort of upbeat desperation. One day Squall was going to tell Zell that he really didn't find that bouncy songs all that uplifting, and then he would chuck the damn radio _straight_ out the window so that he could brood in peace.

He'd thought he'd finally gotten out of the habit of spending long hours staring at the wall wallowing in his own misery, but those things died hard, and here he was: Wallowing, definitely wallowing; it was a strange blow to his pride.

Damn Rinoa, and damn Quistis and damn Zell and damn himself, and hell, damn _Cloud Strife_ just for the fun of it. Crazy little mini-Seifer, holier-than-thou, swaggering bastard. Okay, so he didn't swagger, but his insinuation that he was stronger than everyone else and their mothers was close enough to a mental swagger.

Squall realized he might have had an unhealthy tendency to blame short blond men for his romantic problems.

"I hope Valentine eats the fucker," he muttered, the curse somehow soothing to his addled mind.

Any other time he would have realized he was partaking in unneeded anger and angst, and stopped his mental train of thought before it became a fiery disaster, but today he felt like indulging his inner sullen teenager. And really, he was eighteen, by all rights he should have an _outer _sullen teenager, and they were lucky that most of the time these days he preferred being the Commander.

Zell had steered his rolling chair that so he could peer through the 'door' in the room partition, his eyebrows raised.

"You okay?" he questioned, as hesitant as Zell ever got.

Squall slumped forward, one palm pressed against his forehead as he propped his elbow on the desk.

"Not particularly." He used his free hand to make a dismissive gesture. "But I'll be fine. Take the rest of the day off and go scare the students or something."

Zell took a perverse joy out of sneaking up on the new recruits and scaring the ever loving crap out of them. 'Stealth mission training' he called it, but the rest of them knew he was just indulging his tiny sadistic streak

"Yo, about what Rin said to Quistis…And I wasn't supposed to tell you…"

"Don't worry about it."

They'd all adjusted to the fact that if you told Zell something, someone else was bound to find out sooner or later. It wasn't that Zell wasn't trustworthy, but if something wasn't life or death, if it didn't involve a mission, it wasn't filed carefully away in that 'do not reveal under pain of torture' box in the back of his head, and was thus free to be babbled out at inconvenient moments.

"Try not to brood yourself to death."

Zell's head disappeared from the doorway, his chair squeaked back into place, and a few moments later his footsteps bounced from the office. Figures the blond would get the last word in; Squall was slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that being blond meant that you had to be certifiably insane on at least one level.

•••

Cloud had obviously picked up a few interesting habits from Highwind during their travels, though Vincent was sure he'd never heard the petite man string so many swear words together at once, and he'd _certainly_ never seen Cloud with a cigarette. It was easy enough to see that Cloud was royally pissed, and not in his normal, quietly burning way, oh no; Strife was beyond quiet.

"Orders me to give up _my_ sword." Cloud jabbed the hand holding the cigarette towards Vincent. "To _you_ – no offense -, like he's got any right to be giving me orders, like I'm one of his-"

"I didn't know you smoked," Vincent interrupted smoothly, more because Strife was giving him a minor headache with all the ranting than any sort of actual curiosity.

"Huh?" Cloud paused momentarily, his enraged speech completely ruined, and looked down at the smoldering cigarette. "Oh. Ya. Zack made me quit. He was right, it was bad for me, and I was just doing it to look like a cool asshole."

"Six years is an awful long time to quit if you're just going to take it up again." The dark man had to keep conversation flowing, lest Strife lapse back into hysterics.

A snort from across the room declared exactly what Highwind thought of quitting for five minutes, much less six years.

"Well, it can't hurt me now," Cloud said, shrugging. "Can't really help me, either, I'm as immune to nicotine as I am alcohol but it's…psycho-something."

"Psychosomatic," Cid supplied, and both Cloud and Vincent turned to stare at him. "What?"

"So you _do_ have a real vocabulary," Vincent drawled, sounding amused. "I'm impressed."

"Ah, fuck you," Cid retorted without any real heat.

"And you're attempting to distract me!" Cloud declared, again jabbing his hand in Vincent's direction.

The former Turk simply shrugged elegantly, the motion noncommittal enough that Strife could take it whatever way he fancied. The blond had appeared at their door a few minutes ago, fuming fit to kill and looking about ready to strangle someone. They'd managed to coerce the story out of him while he was still relatively coherent, which Vincent supposed was a good thing because it avoided confusion.

"This is his Garden," Valentine pointed out coolly. "And he will protect it in anyway he sees fit. He is doing no more than what I did."

Less than what Vincent had done, even.

"That's completely different. You're my friend, and you _know_ about things, but he's just some…" Cloud made a wild and slightly desperate had gesture. "Some punk kid who thinks he's better than everyone else. Holier-than-thou ass."

_Spike, just get some knives from the weapons room and you'll be all right._ Zack paused, _And put out that cigarette before I figure out how to become corporeal just so I can kick your ass._

Cloud sighed and snubbed out the cigarette in Highwind's ashtray, folding one arm over his chest and staring out the window with a perturbed look on his face. Ability to fight with knives or no, he didn't like this. They were taking away his materia, and though he didn't rely on the power it brought him, he felt a little perturbed at giving up things like preemptive and scan materia. He'd already stripped off his armband, and the materia on the Ultima weapon had been popped out of their slots and placed in Vincent's travel bag; Cloud felt naked, vulnerable. He knew it would have been ten times worse if he were only a normal human, and wondered how the others ever dealt with having no materia.

_No one else is quite as paranoid as you are,_ Zack reminded him 'helpfully'.

"If you truly need the sword, believe me, I will give it to you." Vincent laced his fingers together and propped his chin on them, "But I doubt that will be the case unless it is a true emergency."

"How would you feel if they took away the Death Penalty?"

"I can fight without guns, as I'm sure you can fight without your sword. Do not become dependant on one weapon, Strife, it cripples you."

That had to be Valentine's inner Turk shining through, as every fighting employee of Shinra was forced to sit through that stupid lecture on weaponry, and the Turks probably had versatility pounded into their heads ten times more than anyone else. For lack of a good retort, Cloud simply snorted and then returned to looking sullen.

"I don't depend on it," he muttered. "It just makes me feel better to have it."

He still hadn't completely adjusted to the fact that he was now stronger than most people twice his size, and having the Ultima Weapon – something that he shouldn't even have been able to lift – was a nice reminder of everything. Cloud, who had never seen Vincent look even vaguely insecure, didn't think that the older man would ever understand the peace of mind that offered.

"It'll be fine, kid," Cid said. "You can take anyone in this damn place with or without weapons. And if Sephiroth shows up, you can be damn sure we'll be there for back up."

There were dangers in talking to Cid and Vincent, one of which was that if one of them didn't pick up on something, the other certainly would. Highwind had just figured out exactly what Cloud was worried about; being helpless, vulnerable, unable to fight back against Sephiroth if he showed up. Cloud didn't know if he would be able to survive being at Sephiroth's mercy again, physically he might come out of it fine, but mental stability was another issue altogether. Damn it, this was becoming needlessly complicated.

Not that anything in his life had ever really been _simple_. Cloud often felt as if he were the punch line of some viciously screwed up cosmic joke, one that just kept going and going and going.

"I'm going to go find Kinneas," he grumbled, suddenly needing desperately to get away from people who knew what he was thinking.

•••

Irvine wondered why he always got stuck with the crazy people. Okay, so Valentine wasn't too bad, but he still scared the shit out of the sharpshooter, and now Strife was following him around like a little black rain cloud. Heh, rain cloud. Irvine wisely refrained from making a joke that Cloud had probably heard five thousand times before.

There was no way in hell he was going to be able to start a conversation. What did you say to a guy who just went nuts and tried to kill your Commander? 'So, accidentally killed anyone lately?' or 'Looks like you've got a thing for guys with silver hair!' maybe. If he opened his mouth he was going to get himself killed in so many painful ways. He hadn't signed up for this, and Squall was very lucky he had Irvine's undying respect and friendship or the sharpshooter would have been on a nice sunny beach far, far away at the first sighting of an other worldly lunatic.

This was just too damn much. Irvine had to clamp down on the urge to babble like a lunatic, and he really, really needed a drink. Being a SeeD he could do, killing people he'd gotten used to, and he'd stopped that whole freaking out while sniping thing, but this was so above and beyond his job description. Everyone had Squall pegged for the first person to suffer a nervous breakdown, but Irvine was tempted to nominate himself. Selphie said he was high strung, which was rich coming from her, and mildly disconcerting because he was doing his best to be exactly the opposite. Or at least, not reveal to everyone that he _was_ being high strung.

A drink was sounding really good, and he could probably convince Quistis and Zell to join him. Garden duties, however, came first, so that meant showing his trailing rain cloud to the armory. He stopped in front of the heavily locked, neatly labeled door and punched in the key code, hoping that he was standing at an angle that blocked Strife's view of the pad. Last thing they needed was crazy boy knowing how to access weapon storage.

The armory was a glorified storage room, with racks upon racks of different SeeD weapons that no one had really gotten around to organizing in the last decade or so. Long swords sat docilely next to fighting gloves and crossbows, one lonely bo staff was propped up against the wall next to a highly incongruous battle axe. The knives and daggers, luckily, seemed to be situated in the same general area, laid out on a table for quick and easy inspection. Irvine left Cloud to it, keeping half of his attention on the blond as he inspected some of the guns hanging on the wall racks.

Poor things needed a cleaning, and they would all look so much better polished. This was a disgrace, really. The SeeDs were their weapons, and if the armory was in such poor condition, what did that tell the new recruits? Irvine had to admit he loved weapons of all shapes and sizes, even if guns were his own personal beauties, and made a mental note to ask Squall for permission to clean the place up. It would give him something to do, and if he had such a time consuming duty maybe it would exempt him from escorting psychos around the building.

He was about ready to start cleaning some of the pistols right then and there when Cloud finally declared that he'd made a decision. Irvine turned around to see the blond holding a dangerous looking bowie knife, and Irvine had no doubt he could do almost as much damage with that as he could with a huge sword.

"Got a sheath?" Irvine questioned, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Boot." Well wasn't Strife just a bundle of sunshine and goodwill?

He would have asked if Strife thought his sheath would match this knife, but figured it would only earn him a look of contempt. Why the hell would Strife choose a knife that wouldn't fit it? Or something.

Irvine waited for Cloud to leave the room before exiting and locking the door behind him, reentering the codes that would secure the room completely. When he looked up to see if his ever-so-cheerful companion needed anything else Strife was already gone.

Well, one less thing for Irvine to worry about. Maybe he could go find Zell and Quistis and ask them what they thought about getting that drink.

•••

Tifa was, in a word, confused. Her talk with Seifer had been just that, and only that; a talk, a simple, friendly conversation that had ranged in topic from fighting styles to cats. She'd enjoyed it thoroughly, at ease for the first time since this whole thing had started. It wasn't quite the serious discussion she'd been aiming toward when she'd first sought him out, but it did lead to one simple, undeniable truth. She was attracted to Seifer Almasy.

Why did she do this to herself? Did she have some sort of masochistic streak that led her straight towards the unhealthiest men possible? It was bad enough that she stilled loved Cloud, and that was as of yet unresolved, without adding this bizarre crush on a man two years her junior. One day she was going to take the part of her brain that controlled affection and kick it, or at least give it a stern talking to about being rational.

At least Seifer didn't have any lingering emotional attachments to anyone, at least not as far as she knew. He'd told her he'd dated Rinoa, but that had been a summer fling. Cloud didn't have that lack of baggage, still clinging to Aeris's memory. Or…someone's memory. What Seifer had said the other day still ran circles in her mind, the implications of it, brushed aside at the time, now burrowed into her brain and nagged at her.

It was so much easier to keep believing that it was Aeris he held a torch for, Aeris he was cleaving to. Tifa didn't think she could handle the alternative. If it was true, why hadn't Cloud ever told her? Why hadn't Sephiroth used it against him? It couldn't be true, it would have come up before now if it was. Cloud could not, did not love Sephiroth. He hated him, plain and simple.

_ But Cloud doesn't have all of his memories,_ the treacherous part of her brain nagged, _And who's to say Sephiroth does, either? Maybe if you'd paid more attention to things instead of _lying_ to him, you'd know._

Tifa firmly told her brain to shut the hell up, thank you very much. She didn't need to deal with this right now. After Sephiroth and Jenova had been killed, this world was safe, and they found a way to get back home, she could deal with this and talk to Cloud. Everything would be sorted out, she'd be a world away from Seifer Almasy, and things would go back to normal.

But maybe normal wasn't what she wanted. The thought of going back to the way things had been, desperately trying to catch Cloud's attention for more than five minutes, bound and determined to fight a battle she couldn't win, made her slightly uneasy. But it was all she had, really. That was where their friends were, that was where her life was; but Yuffie and Nanaki had their people, Barret had Marlene, Cid and Vincent had each other, and Reeve had ShinRa. There was no extra room for more Tifa in the lives, and it was only logical that she and Cloud lend each other support and love.

Cloud, unfortunately, had never been capable of doing things logically.

And speak (well, think) of the devil, there was Cloud, storming down the hallway with none of his usual silence and grace, looking ready to impale anyone who had the idiotic urge to talk to him. Something must have gone wrong with Leonhart, especially considering Cloud lacked both sword and armband, and Tifa had never seen him without at least one.

Tifa, not too worried that he might impale her, put a hand on his arm to halt him as he passed her. Cloud stopped, his movements stuttering, and blinked at her like he hadn't even realized she was there. The martial artist had gotten used to that awhile ago, sometimes when people talked to Cloud he had to take a moment to pull himself together, like he'd been a million miles away in his mind.

"Cloud, are you okay?"

He blinked, ran a hand through his hair. "I'm fine, Tifa."

"Where's your sword?" She wasn't going to let this go that easily.

"Vincent has it. Leonhart says I'm too much of a danger to carry around a weapon that large," his voice was thick with disdain, "No materia, either."

"Oh." She searched for something else to say. "When?"

"This morning."

And he hadn't gotten around to telling her before now? Come to think of it, Cloud was looking distinctly uncomfortable, and had that 'please let me be anywhere but here' expression on his face.

"You're avoiding me," she stated flatly.

"No!" For a moment, he looked like a lonely teenager again. "I just…do you hate me?" That was incredibly random. "For what happened, I mean. I let him in, Tifa. I almost killed them."

"Oh. _Oh._ Cloud, no. I don't hate you. I understand it wasn't your fault." She did her best to sound soothing and sincere. "Don't you ever think I hate you."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No. No matter what Sephiroth does to your head, I'm sure you'd never hurt me." It was so easy to say that, but deep down Tifa wasn't so sure, and that made her feel like scum.

"Please don't count on that." He looked at her, almost beseeching, the most emotional she'd seen him in days. "Tifa, I'm remembering things and things are happening and…I want you to be able to fight me if I'm possessed, but if I'm myself I need you to trust me."

"Of course I trust you," she told him. "What are you talking about?"

Cloud shook his head, and then stepped out of her grip on his arm and resumed his walk down the corridor, leaving a confused and worried Tifa behind him.

•••

_ "Zackary Charon this has got to be the most _ridiculous_ stunt you have ever pulled." _

_ Zack didn't look even slightly chastised, leaning against the hood of his recently 'upgraded' soldier-issue jeep, beaming as if he'd just won some sort of trophy._

_ "You said that last week about the sushi," he pointed out. "And damn, Seph, it's just a jeep, not the president."_

_ Cloud wouldn't have put it past Zack to try and paint the president maroon. Though the car certainly looked…special, now, especially considering the chrome finish Zack had put on all the parts he hadn't painted that frightening shade of red-purple-whatever. However, the trooper could understand Sephiroth's horror. They rode around in that car, and the General had finely honed aesthetic tastes that did not involve the color maroon in any way, shape or form. _

_ The fuzzy dice probably weren't helping._

_ "I would have preferred it were the president," the General drawled._

_ Zack turned his snicker into a hasty cough, and then turned to Cloud. "Come on Spike, you agree with me."_

_ "Uh." He could agree with Zack and still be allowed in the jeep, or he could agree with Sephiroth and not have an irritated General looming over him everywhere he went. "It's very you." There, that was neutral enough._

_ "Seph, stop paying attention for a minute."_

_ "What?" _

_ Zack waved a hand in a little 'turn around' gesture. "Spike won't agree with me if you're paying attention, because you can withhold sex."_

_ "Zack!" Cloud looked absolutely mortified, and he could almost hear Sephiroth's eye twitch. There were certain rules to public conversations, and one of the first was 'don't discuss the General's relationship with an underage trooper. Really'. _

_ "It's true!" Zack patted his car. "You're hurting Betsy's feelings."_

_ "Betsy?" Sephiroth was incredulous, to say the least. _

_ "Yup!" Zack declared proudly. "All good cars are named Betsy, don't you know?"_

_ "Are they all maroon, too?"_

_ "Sometimes they're purple."_

_ "Like that's any better."_

_ Cloud shook his head in good natured amusement, wondering how a Soldier First Class and the greatest General known to man could dissolve into arguing like five year olds. He wasn't about to interrupt them, though, because Sephiroth really could withhold sex, and Cloud was a teenaged male._

_ "And you're not allowed in the backseat!"_

Cloud stared at his ceiling, feeling as if he'd just been run over by a bulldozer that had then proceeded to back over him. That wasn't just a dream, that was a memory, and that meant…

Oh.

Shit.


	9. Poking Vincent With Sticks

Seven kinds of love to Eva Kasumi for betaing this. 3 And encouraging me. And telling me I don't suck. You know, that stuff. Standard disclaimers apply. To the vaguely interested - I've gone back through the first eight chapters and done a bit of editing - nothing really altering, and nothing with an affect on the plot. But if ever you did want to do a reread, for some reason, now would be the time.

•••

One look at Rinoa and Squall knew with sudden frightening desperation that he did not want to hear what she had to say. A brief, stuttering moment of strange clairvoyance, perhaps, or just the ability to put two and two together and come up with 'oh, shit'. He dropped his pen, felt like an idiot for dropping his pen, and cursed Rinoa's presence for making him feel like an idiot for _dropping a pen. _Four months and the girl could still make him feel like he'd lost his sense in the back of his closet somewhere.

Four months was as far as it was going to go. Reconciliation with the fact that they just couldn't work it out didn't make Squall feel any better about the inevitable. Logic, Ellone told him, rarely had any bearing on the heart. Squall knew that quite intimately, as his _feelings _(stupid sentimentalities, he was better off without them) were always leading him to do incredibly stupid things. Like letting Rinoa talk, even though he knew what she was going to say and really did not want to hear it. He wondered briefly, in a strange flash of compassion, if this was how Quistis had felt during his constant rejections.

"Squall," Rinoa said. "I love you."

And that was the root of the problem, really. If they didn't love each other Rinoa could have gone back to Timber or Dollet or anywhere right away, Squall could have gone back to his life quietly, and they could have exchanged short but friendly letters on holidays. Of course, he'd never have learned the curve of her back, or how it felt to just sit in the sun holding her, or that he actually could feel something without it coming back to smack him in the face.

Scratch that – the coming back to smack him in the face part was happening right now.

"I love you too." The statement probably startled her, as Squall usually responded to declarations of affections with awkward thanks (mortifying) or physicality (slightly more satisfying). But it was a nice thing to get out of the way.

"But…" A whole plethora of ways she could phrase this; 'This isn't working out' or 'I want to go home' or 'I've suddenly come to the startling revelation that you really _are_ an apathetic bastard', Squall didn't know.

"But?" He prompted, and hated himself for urging her on.

"You mean a lot to me." She swallowed thickly, and he could see tears beading on her lashes. "And we've been through a lot together, but Squall we're so _different_. And I know different can be good, but I think this is the sort of different you can't really…fix."

Squall tried to remind himself that he'd had forewarning of this, the great circle of gossip that was his friends had already told him this was coming. It didn't make it any easier to handle, so he just went back to his tried and true method of crumpling all the horror and despair into a little ball inside himself and ignoring it completely. He folded his hands on top of his desk and shrugged with one shoulder.

"Okay," he said, voice perfectly monotone.

"And I know this isn't the best time to do this, with everything going on, but – wait. Okay?" Rinoa looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be offended or relieved.

"Okay," he repeated. "If that's how you feel, nothing I say is going to change your mind."

She gawked at him, and he felt momentarily bad for the tears that were slowly starting to leak down her cheeks. But honestly, he was far too focused on not freaking out himself to worry about her completely normal reaction.

"Oh," she managed. "I'm…glad you understand." She choked awkwardly on her words.

"Will you be staying?" He asked, trying desperately to remind himself that he was Commander here, competent and emotionless.

"Maybe until everything with Cloud and the others gets sorted out," she told him.

Squall _knew _he should say something, anything. Perhaps tell her the truth about how much he was going to miss her, about how sorry he was that this just couldn't work out. Instead he settled for an extreme reversion.

"Whatever."

Rinoa winced, and then lifted her hands to unhook the chain she always wore around her neck. She took the ring off it and laid Griever down on Squall's desk gently.

"I'm really sorry, Squall," she said, and practically fled the room.

Squall turned his chair around to face the windows, took a deep breath to steady himself, and then found that with the proper amount of rage and force applied, he really _could _break the reinforced glass of his office window with his fist. It just hurt like a bitch, but that feeling he was becoming used to.

•••

"So _I _don't think it makes any sense, but since when has anyone ever listened to…" Zell trailed off as he and Irvine stepped into the main section of Squall's office.

Squall was sitting at his desk, which was not in and of itself unusual, but he was hunched over it and clutching his right hand with his left. Blood dripped between his fingers to splatter onto papers that were already in disarray, blown about by the wind that was coming through the shattered window. Zell dropped the file he'd been holding, the papers spilling out of it adding to the mess.

"Holy shit!" The blond exclaimed. "Squall, what the hell happened?"

"Nothing," Squall said in that 'go away or I will kill you' tone of voice he sometimes adopted.

"Forgive me for saying so, but this doesn't look like nothing," Irvine said.

"You're bleeding," Zell pointed out helpfully as he walked forward and grabbed Squall's uninjured hand to pry it away from the other.

"Thanks for the update," Squall snarled.

Zell diplomatically chose to ignore this sarcasm, for the time being. "Yo, Irvine, do you have a cure on you?"

Irvine shook his head. "You know I don't junction when I'm not on a mission."

Zell opened one of the drawers of Squall's desk and pulled out a basic first aid kit, usually only used when Squall had a headache or overexerted himself in training. A roll of bandages and a tube of antiseptic were buried under packets of painkillers and band-aids, and by the time Zell found them Squall had curled his injured hand under his other one again.

"I'm fine," Squall snapped. "You can leave."

"Window," Irvine said slowly, as if he were talking to a two year old. "Broken. Squall's hand. Broken."

Squall frowned at him. "It's just a little cut up."

"Dude, what'd you do? Punch out the window?" Zell asked facetiously, and then caught the look in Squall's eyes. "Shit! You _did _punch out the window! I thought you'd thrown a paper weight or something, man! No wonder your hand's screwed up, you punched out the damned window!"

Irvine stared at the broken window with measured curiosity, as if wondering if he could shatter it with just a punch. "Why?" He asked.

Squall shrugged. "Felt like it."

"And they accuse me of being brilliant," Zell muttered, grabbing the wrist of Squall's injured hand and yanking it toward him. "That was stupid, Squall."

"Well, you are the authority on stupid things," Squall drawled.

Zell bristled, and growled something incoherent under his breath about being ungrateful as he yanked a piece of glass out of Squall's palm with more force than was absolutely necessary.

"Hey!" Irvine said, holding up his hands. "No fighting. Squall, don't take it out on Zell because you're in a bad mood, he's trying to help. Zell, don't get baited so easily when Squall's in a bad mood." He paused, considered something. "Do we get to know why you're grumpy and destroying Garden property or is that a secret?"

Squall sighed in defeat, and then motioned with his free hand toward something on the desk that glinted in the morning sunlight. Irvine picked it up, and winced.

"Harsh, man," he said.

Zell looked up from smearing antiseptic on the cuts. "What? Who's harsh?"

Irvine showed him the object, and Zell knew immediately what it was. He had, after all, been the one to get it for Rinoa in her first clumsy steps toward a relationship with Squall. Griever.

"That –"

"Don't." Squall cut him off. "Don't say anything about Rinoa. It's not her fault."

"Well, it's not your fault either."

"Didn't say it was."

"Ya, but you thought it." Zell yanked the bandages just a little too tight.

"Are you psychic now?"

Zell's reply was interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom, and Squall yanked his hand away almost before the blond could finish securing the bandages.

"What?" Squall practically growled into the intercom, holding down the button with his uninjured hand.

"Squall, there's been an attack on Balamb," Nida said in a rush. "You need to deploy somebody _right now. _The monsters there aren't like anything anyone's seen before, and someone says they saw that…Sephiroth."

"Fuck!" Zell shouted. "Ma!" He paused, trying to figure out how to handle the situation. "_Fuck!_"

Squall stood up, took a moment to take Griever from Irvine and jam it onto one of his fingers. He switched the intercom to public, and visibly took a second to stabilize himself.

"I want Quistis Trepe and Selphie Tilmitt to the lobby immediately, full battle gear and junctions." His voice was calm, too calm. "And our visitors, as well."

"Why take them?" Irvine asked.

"I'm not letting Strife out of my sight."

•••

Cloud startled awake when Squall's orders rang out over the intercom. The blond had been trying desperately to nap, hoping that more dreams would come to him, more dreams to explain…that thing. That thing where he evidently had sex with _Sephiroth _at the tender age of sixteen.

_To be fair to everyone involved, you were a very mature sixteen, _Zack pointed out.

Cloud snorted, but knew he didn't have any time to argue with Zack. Checking to make sure his knife was strapped into its sheath properly, Cloud pulled on his boots and a t-shirt as he shook away the last residues of sleep. Something was going on, or else Squall wouldn't be requesting his presence - that much he was sure of. The brunette wasn't Cloud's greatest fan at the moment. When he got to the lobby everyone else was already there, the group from this world looking simultaneously stone faced and jittery, with Zell swearing a mile a minute and practically bouncing off the walls.

"There's been an attack," Squall explained when Cloud entered the area. "The town is called Balamb, and the aggressor is you friend Sephiroth."

Zell swore loudly again.

"He's not my –" Cloud closed his mouth abruptly. There were way too many memories filtering in his head that pointed to Sephiroth being a very good 'friend' of his, and it didn't seem right to deny it now. Tifa looked at him oddly, but he did his best to ignore her for now. "What do you want us to do?"

"You're coming with us," Squall told him. "And you're helping."

"I don't have any materia," Cloud said, resisting the urge to be snappish about it.

"You'll deal with it," Squall _did _snap. "Or you won't, I don't care."

"Let's get going!" Zell punctuated his demand with a jabbing punch toward the doors.

As they hurried toward the exit, Cid slipped something into Cloud's hands. It was one of the flimsy armbands that only held a few materia, but it would fit around his bicep under the t-shirt, and Cid had stocked it with the most helpful, subtle materia.

"Don't say I never do anything for ya," Cid said, grinning.

"Thanks," Cloud whispered, and hung back a little so that he could put on the armband without Squall or any of his compatriots noticing.

They had somehow maneuvered the Garden (and really, there went the laws of physics straight out the window) right up to the beach next to the attack zone, and the departure involved less scrambling than Cloud would have guessed, though everything was done with an underlying hint of panic. The town was Balamb, their Garden was Balamb, perhaps this was the closest thing they had to a home…and Sephiroth was trying to tear it down. A calculated move, or just random violence? The General was becoming harder and harder to predict, with his focus now torn between the world and Cloud. That thought was strangely, sickeningly comforting.

At the very least, the town appeared familiar with attack procedure. There wasn't a civilian to be seen on the streets, though a few of the quaint little flag stones were smeared ominously with blood and Cloud's senses nearly thrummed with the presence of Sephiroth. The lack of monsters worried Cloud, as he figured they'd be swarming the streets – the lack indicated that the attack had been less about bloodshed, and more about bait. They might have just waltzed quite easily into a trap.

Vincent cocked the Death Penalty threateningly. "I hear something."

Cloud shifted his head to the side, straining his sense of hearing until he did pick up the sound of shuffling footsteps. "One of the lifestream mutants," he guessed.

The SeeDs looked nervous, which was just as well. Sephiroth being able to mutate himself had been bad enough, but his new found delight in subjecting other animals – perhaps even people – to the torture and exacting control over them was nothing sort of terrifying. Cloud swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat with the thought. The _thing _that stalked, shuffled, slithered, _whatever _toward them was even worse than the monster set on Garden. It moved like nothing living had a right to, and its main weapons appeared to be foot long, shining nails and fangs that twisted and tore out of its oozing, rotting mouth. Luckily, it didn't appear to really notice them yet.

Cloud suddenly remembered really bad zombie films, and decided they weren't quite as funny anymore.

"That," Selphie whispered, hall grossed out and half in awe, "is so sick."

"I ran a scan spell over the area," Quistis said. "There's two more – one on the opposite side of town, one on the port. We'll have to split up."

"Quistis, Zell, take Highwind and go to the docks. Irvine, Selphie and Lockheart, go find the other one. Valentine, Strife, you're with me," Squall barked out the orders, gesturing to punctuate them, and Cloud noticed with confusion that the Commander had bandages wrapped around one hand. Were all SeeDs subject to spontaneous injury, or what?

Cid muttered something out of the side of his mouth to Vincent that made the other man snort, and then slung his spear over his shoulder and jogged after the others off into winding streets, away from what Cloud mentally declared a zombie.

_If memory serves me correctly, _Zack mused, _splitting up in those movies always ended up in brains being eaten._

Cloud didn't have time to retort, as the zombie finally noticed their presence, swinging its head with its milky blind eyes toward them and flicking out a quick, snake like tongue. Blind, it was probably blind, that could be a huge advantage if the other senses hadn't compensated enough. Or maybe Cloud was just desperately making shit up, which was also a distinct possibility.

Damn, he felt so small and helpless without his sword. Cloud Strife without his sword was just a useless trooper, and he'd never be able to take on anything like that. Soldiers took on mutated half dead things, not troopers – not Cloud.

_But I _am _a Soldier. _A belief he'd held onto so fiercely for so long that it was easy to fall back on it now. Cloud shook his head. _No. I'm as good as one, though. Better than one._

Cloud unsheathed the knife, and it felt familiar in his hand. He could do this; he'd done things harder than this before he'd even faced Sephiroth. This was trifling, this was nothing. _This _was coming right at them, and if somebody didn't do something soon they were going to get body parts ripped off.

The Death Penalty boomed twice, and the monster's left shoulder was practically blown off, bullet casings clinking almost delicately to the flag stones. Rotting flesh roiled and oozed up to cover the wound, and the damn thing just kept coming at them, apparently unfazed by the bullets. Vincent might have sworn, but Cloud couldn't quite catch what he was muttering under his breath.

Cloud darted forward to attack, knife flashing in his hand. The monster seemed almost impervious to physical attacks, and Cloud wished Squall hadn't been a materia-stealing jackass. A well placed Comet spell would have really, really come in hand right about then. The blond scored a hit when the monster raised its claws to parry, and three of the shining nails were sliced cleanly off, sent clattering to the pavement like Vincent's casings.

That seemed to piss it off.

It rushed Cloud, landing a solid blow to his abdomen and tossing him aside with strength it should not have had. Cloud hit a stone bench roughly, taking a blow on his head that would have split anyone else's skull open. He just sat for a moment, slightly dazed and nauseous as he waited for the world to properly realign itself and stop that damn spinning.

Squall and Vincent were attacking it, wearing it down with ice spells, but Cloud couldn't see them clearly. He amended his earlier assessment – that blow to the head would have _killed _anyone else, considering the time it was taking him to readjust.

The world snapped abruptly back into focus just in time for Cloud to realize that something rather bad was about to happen.

Vincent was angry. Nobody else would have noticed it; Vincent looked as stoic as ever, but Cloud had spent enough time gauging the man's moods in battle that he knew what Vincent looked like pissed off. Blood dripped down into his left eye from a gash on his temple, eyes that were burning a little too brightly, a little too inhumanly. The monster leapt at him, sinking its twisted teeth into Vincent's shoulder.

Vincent screamed; Chaos screamed.

_Fuck! _The curse mingled with Zack's own choice four letter words.

Squall stopped in shock as Vincent ripped away from the monster, the creature probably taking a good chunk of shoulder away with it. Vincent bent double as great, leathery black wings burst from his back, flesh twisting and turning and blackening, eyes glowing red.

Cloud swallowed down rising bile – no matter how many times he watched the monsters take over, it never got any easier to see it. Chaos on its – his – own would have been hard to look at, but knowing it was _Vincent _underneath all that just made it so much worse.

Squall dropped his gun blade, his mouth hanging open.

Chaos screamed again and tackled the monster, the two creatures dropping to the ground in a mingling of blood, unnatural limbs and horrible growls. A few tense moments passed; Squall unable to do anything but stare at the fight, Cloud knowing better than to get in the way of Chaos in a rage. Finally, Chaos gained the evident upper hand in the battle, grabbing the screeching monster by one arm and hauling it up into the air.

Way, _way _up into the air, and zombie-monster meat made a disgusting noise when it fell to stone pavement.

Still, it wasn't dead. Squirming and writhing, it fought to stand up and carry on the attack. Cloud started forward, prepared to take it out however he could, when Squall's voice interrupted him.

"Holy!" The commander cried, his voice slightly ragged.

Cloud stopped in complete astonishment when an all too familiar white-green light burst around the monster, practically disintegrating it.

Sephiroth's creation was dead, Squall just used holy magic. Squall could use_ holy magic._ But…Holy was the magic of the Cetra, only Aeris could use that sort of spell, and she was dead!

_The rules don't work the same around here_, Zack offered, but sounded rather stunned himself.

"Strife!" Squall's voice broke through his shock. "What the _fuck?_"

Only one thing Squall could be asking about – one thing that was currently circling over head like a bird of ill omen.

"Chaos," Cloud said hollowly.

"That is Chaos?" Squall asked, his tone suddenly dropping from hysterical to icy cold. "_That _is what you didn't tell me? I saw what that thing can do, and it could have taken down ten SeeDs in the time it took to fight that monster."

"That _thing,_" Cloud spat, "is Vincent."

Chaos let out another battle cry and dove away from them, toward the docks. At least if the others were having trouble, that was about to be cut abruptly short. Well, maybe not Tifa's group – Vincent was slightly warm to Tifa, but mostly apathetic, which meant Chaos could care less if she got eaten by monsters. However, Chaos objected sincerely to Cid being disemboweled, and the pilot had actually been the catalyst of at least two transformations Cloud had seen. It was that, and little else, that convinced Cloud that Vincent still remained in control where it counted.

"Like hell it is," Squall snarled.

Cloud tried very hard not to snarl back. "You saw him transform."

"I did. I…did. Fuck."

"Fuck just about sums up the situation, yes." Cloud sighed.

Vincent's secret was out; everyone was going to be even more scared to death of him. Squall could use holy magic.

Despite current circumstances, Cloud's mind kept circling back around to that. It was important, somehow, Cloud knew, he just couldn't keep his mind still long enough to pin down what it was. Normal people could use Holy, normal people could…

Chaos landed in front of them, his arms crossed over his chest almost petulantly when the demon saw that there was nothing else in the immediate area that they could kill. Cid's group entered the square a moment later, Quistis limping slightly and both of the SeeDs looking extremely shaken, but no one really worse for the wear.

Chaos lifted his head, as if contemplating if it should go after the third monster as well, just to prove it could. The demon didn't generally stick around long enough to give the impression of a proper personality, but eager bloodlust could always be counted on. The decision was made for him, however, when Tifa, Irvine and Selphie approached.

"That was too easy, man. Selphie just whipped out The End and…holy shit, what's that?" Irvine nearly squeaked.

Chaos turned to assess the newcomers, and snorted dismissively. Vincent felt to the ground, head and shoulder wounds healed, and vomited up his breakfast.

No one moved but Cid, who walked forward to sweep Vincent's long hair out of the way of the puke and help the other man to his feet. Vincent glared at him, but Cid was completely unfazed.

"Are you all quite done staring?" Vincent asked icily, examining the rip in his cape so that he wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes. "Somebody must have told you it's rude."

"You!" Squall managed.

"Informed you of Chaos, though you, quite wisely, didn't seek details," Vincent said in a complete monotone. "No one is hurt who shouldn't be, and the problem has been dealt with. How, exactly, is this an issue?"

It wasn't an issue. Avalanche had adjusted, the SeeDs would adjust. There was another issue, Cloud knew, an issue involving Squall being able to cast Holy…

"Holy shit!" An apt exclamation, considering the circumstances. Everyone turned to stare at Cloud.

"What?" Tifa asked.

"Squall cast Holy to finish off Sephiroth's monster," Cloud babbled. "Holy isn't confined to the Cetra here, we can use it. We can use it to…"

It was stupid and psychotic and the most half baked plan he'd ever had, but damn it, it just might work.

"Cloud," Tifa said, her tone of voice making it apparent that she thought he'd gone crazy – again.

Cloud tried to explain, but the words caught suddenly in his throat as the background hum of 'Sephiroth' in his brain became a dull roar. He was here.


	10. Two Simple Words, Oh Shit

This chapter dedicated to Quela, and the beautiful, awesome fanart she drew me, because she's an awesome person. Since links aren't allowed within story pages, look her up on devart (as nashidesei) and see the wonderful...ness of it all.

And love to my wonderful beta, who knows grammar better than all in the land! Thank Eva for the coherency in my punctuation, as I couldn't have achieved it without her.

Konitsu

•••

Cloud didn't dare turn, suddenly not trusting himself, wondering if he'd find the sharp angles of Sephiroth's face, those poisonous green eyes, and run right to the man. He couldn't trust himself; how could he after what he'd learned, what he'd remembered? So stupid, so utterly and completely stupid, to not have noticed it before. Something had made him different from the other clones, and failure wasn't enough to enchant Sephiroth and draw his attention to Cloud, and demand Cloud's attention in turn. Without even realizing it they'd danced a waltz around each other, not knowing what it all was really about.

Cloud knew with almost startling certainty that it hadn't been just about sex; neither of them would have allowed it, and Zack would have disapproved besides. Memories came filtering back in a flash, slamming into his brain in the split second after he'd known Sephiroth was in the town. Even worse, the memories were no longer like watching a movie; they'd begun to take on the horrifying tinges of feeling and thought. Cloud didn't just _observe_ that he'd loved Sephiroth, he _felt _that love.

And he couldn't look at the General, not now, not even with this brilliant flare of hope brought by Holy. If Sephiroth beckoned right now Cloud would follow without a second thought. He'd obey, and he'd obey gladly.

He couldn't help it, and he hated it.

Sparing a glance at Tifa, with her pretty brown eyes and silk-steel personality, Cloud desperately wished he could love her. Wished he could live the life she wanted, deal with Sephiroth without anything but hatred in his soul, and make everything so simple. Cloud's life, unfortunately, had never been content to remain merely 'simple'.

The others were staring at something behind Cloud with a horrified cast to their eyes.

"Why do you continue to challenge me?" Sephiroth asked, sounding calm and almost sane. Cloud had the strange feeling that the question wasn't directed toward him, especially since he'd ceased to challenge Sephiroth as of three minutes ago. The blond kept his back turned, and caught Squall's eyes, the commander still gazing past him in an almost unfocused fashion.

"Why did you kill these people?" Squall whispered hoarsely.

"Sacrifices are necessary."

Sephiroth was talking, stalling; why? He wouldn't have bothered to talk to Squall - Jenova wouldn't let him talk to Squall - if there wasn't a reason behind it. Something was going on that they didn't know about, and Sephiroth was just messing with them. Something, but what?

"Necessary for what?" Quistis, this time.

"My rise!" Cloud could imagine the flamboyantly raised arms that would accompany this proclamation, the dangerous, mad smirk twisting Sephiroth's handsome features. "Mother's rise! The power of humans is only known after they're dead."

But not near enough had been killed here to warrant the triumphant glee in his voice, only one or two judging by the bloodstains and the lack of panic on the part of the SeeDs. What had Sephiroth done?

_Spike, I hate to suggest this, but – Sephiroth can read your mind, right?_

Cloud paused in his thoughts, startled. _In a way, I think that's how it works. I don't know for sure._

_Everything goes two ways. _Zack sounded pained, as though he knew what something like that would cost Cloud. But it might cost everyone else even more if Cloud _didn't_ do it.

"This planet shall be our glory!"

Cloud closed his eyes and sank back into his mind, back into the dark madness that he usually shied away from at all costs, seeking the hot, painful link that connected him irrevocably to Sephiroth and Jenova. He found it, wrapped his 'mind' around it, and ripped it open to let the searing pain flood into him…and Sephiroth, as well.

_Mother Mother Cloud Mother the fools don't know – Garden I will – the heir the heir – Garden kill them all the young ones – Mother – _

"Get back!" Cloud screamed through the pain and confusion, hoping that Squall had the sense to know it was directed at him. "Get back to the Garden he's sending things there! He's going to kill –"

Something hard slammed into Cloud's back, knocking the air out of him, and the blond hit the ground in an inelegant sprawl. He rolled just in time to see the Masamune plunge into a crack in the cobblestones, not a finger's length away from his head. Any resemblance to his once-lover Cloud thought he might have seen was shredded completely when he looked up into a face contorted into a snarl of alien rage. This was not Sephiroth, Sephiroth was elsewhere.

_Please leave a message after the beep._

_Shut up, Zack! _Now was really not the right time. Cloud cursed colorfully as he moved his hand to his boot and realized he'd dropped his knife when he'd hit the bench.

He could hear the others running back to the Garden. Good.

Cloud pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the hilt of the Masamune just as Sephiroth was going to yank the sword free of the stone and dirt. Using the weapon as a lever, Cloud hauled himself into a powerful kick, crashing both of his booted feet into Sephiroth's stomach. Sephiroth stumbled backwards a few paces, growling incoherently, and Cloud used the chance to pull the Masamune out of the ground, settling into an attack stance even though the sword was horribly unfamiliar.

_Don't use it to block! _Zack practically babbled. _It's strong, but not as strong as my swords, and if you try to use it as a shield it won't work. Speed is what counts!_

Cloud certainly hoped so. He was faster than Sephiroth, just slightly, because of his slighter frame and weight, but the man could make up for the lack with his ability to teleport. Cloud had to keep him in close range so that he wasn't tempted to use the power, and who knows if it'd occur to Sephiroth or Jenova to just teleport in behind him and snap his neck. Instead, the man just glared at him, an eerie, horrible silencing muffling the town now that the others were gone. Cloud stepped forward, and Sephiroth mirrored the movement, nearly smirking. The blond wondered if he should make the first move or wait, no telling which would give him the advantage. Before Cloud could make up his mind, Sephiroth darted forward and Cloud swung the Masamune twice, the movements effective but graceless.

The first slash caught Sephiroth across the chest, scoring deeply and drawing blood, but the second swing jarred abruptly in midair. Sephiroth caught the blade before it hit him, and though the sharp edge gouged deeply into his palm he didn't seem to notice. He pivoted forward and slammed his fist into Cloud's jaw.

Cloud exaggerated the effect it had on him, though the shock that forced him to let go of the Masamune was not faked. He stumbled back a few steps more than necessary, until the back of his knees hit the bench he'd been slammed against earlier. Cloud bent down and scooped up his knife before falling into an attack position, all in one fluid motion.

It was difficult to get under Sephiroth's guard, but that was all that Cloud needed to do. The range of the Masamune was deadly, but marginally less effective in extremely close quarters, and that small benefit might make all the difference. Cloud ducked in, dodging the sweeps of the long blade, attacking the weak point of Sephiroth's stomach, though he was very careful not to do anything deadly. General or no, Cloud didn't know how well Sephiroth would get up from being gutted. Killing him had to be a last resort now.

Cloud would have felt better with Ultima Weapon, but the two were almost evenly matched even with Cloud relatively unarmed. Unfortunately, Sephiroth knew how to take 'almost' and press it to his advantage, outright attacking Cloud less in favor of driving him back, trying to push him into a corner he couldn't dodge out of. Sephiroth could easily pin him down and kill him.

Cloud cut deep into Sephiroth's arm, and the General responded by flipping the Masamune and hitting Cloud on the temple with the hilt hard enough to send his head spinning and vision blurring for the second time that day. As he dodged under another attempt to concuss him, Cloud wondered if he could get brain damage from this sort of treatment.

The brief disorientation was enough of an opportunity for Sephiroth to pin Cloud against one of the quaint brick walls, standing so close the blond could feel his breath. Residual pain from forcing upon the link to Sephiroth still buzzed angrily in Cloud's skull, and short, piercing flairs of pain were now bursting behind his eyes because of the close proximity to Sephiroth. Sephiroth pressed an open palm to Cloud's stomach, and the blond glanced down to see the familiar glow of magic, though he could have sworn Sephiroth didn't have any materia. Agony erupted in Cloud's abdomen and spread to his limbs, the sickening, giant-needled gouges of a lightning spell.

The world fuzzed black around the edges.

Inexplicably, the magic stopped, and Sephiroth's eyes softened to something almost human.

"Cloud."

_HandsarmslipswarmthsafetySephirothohSeph…_

A split second of confusion, and then heavy, rough lips on his own. Cloud tried to inhale, failed miserably, and then snaked his arms around Sephiroth with some intention of stabbing the man to make him stop. Instead, the hand that wasn't holding the knife tangled itself in thick, silken hair. Long, leather clad fingers curled against Cloud's neck to yank him forward.

_This is fucked up, _Cloud told himself as manner-of-factly as he could manage.

And then Sephiroth was gone.

Cloud collapsed to his knees in a mixture of pain and confusion.

"Cloud!" Tifa. When had she gotten here? Had she even left with the others? How much did she see?

_Probably more than enough, _Zack said grimly.

•••

Squall decided that he was just having one of those 'I woke up and everything has gone to shit without my noticing' days, except to a horrifying, exponential degree. Rinoa couldn't have waited until tomorrow to break it off? Vincent couldn't _not _be a…whatever the hell Vincent was? And now Zell was pissed at him for giving the order to withdrawal from Balamb, and it was only SeeD protocol that kept Zell from telling Squall to kiss his ass and running back to town, Squall knew. He glanced back over his shoulder as they pounded across the beach, assessing the moods of his other comrades as best he could.

Quistis was too pale and limping slightly. Selphie's expression was a familiar one; it promised death to whatsoever got in her way. Irvine looked… completely all right, or, at least, as close to all right as Squall had ever seen Irvine really get. The commander would ask him about his calm, later, if any of them could find the time.

"How do we know he's not lying?" Zell shouted to him as the approached the Garden, anger making his voice taut. Squall knew what he meant – '_how do I know I didn't just leave Ma behind for no damned reason?'_

"We don't," Squall replied as the group halted in front of the lobby entrance, waiting for him to input the door access codes. "We can't afford to treat Strife like a liar." Even if he probably was.

But if he wasn't lying, if that silver haired psychopath had truly sent an attack against _Squall's _Garden, there would be hell to pay and then some. The SeeDs there could handle themselves, of course, but there were students, kids just starting out their training who could barely hold their own against each other, much less a mutated, near invincible freak of nature. And if any one of them were hurt, Squall was going to take great pleasure in killing something.

Still, Strife might be leading them on for some reason. Highwind and Valentine had followed the SeeDs back to Garden, leaving Cloud and Lockheart alone with Sephiroth. What if Squall's limited people skills really had read Strife wrong? What if the blond was in some sort of twisted pact with Sephiroth, and they were all currently screwing themselves and Balamb over? Too many variables, way too many things that could go horribly wrong, but he couldn't risk the safety of his Garden, not against anything.

Not even against the safety of Zell's mother and neighbors, and wouldn't that be a thing to explain later?

The lobby was far too quiet, the same eerie silence that had blanketed the town now gagging the reception room of Garden. Squall frowned. Where were the students, the SeeDs, Rinoa? His heart quickened in fear. Rinoa, was she all right? She could fight, and she certainly had an impressive cadre of spells at her disposal, but she would never be as good as the rest of them, didn't have the killer's touch. Would she be okay? Squall might not be dating her anymore, but he was still her knight, would always be her knight. It was practically imperative to his being that he protect her and he had to go find her right now…

But Garden came first, he reminded himself sternly, no matter what the Sorceress-Knight 'rules' said.

"Irvine, Valentine –" Squall hesitated. Could he really trust Valentine with anything, after having seen Chaos? No time to question it, he'd have to rely on the man and ask questions later. "Round up any of the students you can find and take them to the largest classroom, you'll be able to protect them there. The rest of you, make sweeps of the Garden. Kill anything that doesn't belong here, direct students to the classroom, and offer SeeDs aid." He exhaled, thought for a moment. "If you find Rinoa, send her to the classroom, too. Tell her she's not to fight; I _don't _care what she says." He'd keep her safe, no matter what she thought of him now.

Zell was staring at him expectantly. "Squall," he said through clenched teeth.

"We'll return to Balamb after we secure Garden," Squall told him, "and we'll make sure everyone there is…all right." 'Alive' probably wouldn't have been the best choice of words.

Zell nodded.

Squall dashed off down one of the long hallways toward the dorms, hoping he'd find anyone holed up there before there was any real damage. The sounds of fighting slowly filtered through the corridors to him, and a few of the SeeDs he passed in the halls sketched hasty salutes. Mostly they seemed to be fighting escapees from the training center, but something had to have let _those _free. A scream pierced the air, and Squall slammed open the door to the girl's shower room.

One of the students, a girl he vaguely recognized from some of Quistis's classes, was backed up in the sharp corner between sinks and hair dryers, holding up one bloodied arm. In front of her stalked one of the mutants, its belly to the floor. This one looked to be modeled on a hunting cat of some sort, spikes of bone protruding from its joints and neck, and a tail split into three lashing, twisting limbs, each tipped with a deadly looking barb. Squall quickly cast a low level lightning spell on the creature, a quick bit of magic that distracted it just long enough for the girl to dive out of the way. The commander grabbed her uninjured arm.

"Get to the second floor classroom, Irvine will be there. Take any of the other students you find," he ordered, and she ran off.

The cat's long claws left gouges in the tile as it sprang at him, and Squall dodged to the side, delivering a large gash to the creature's flank as he did so. It crouched again, bringing its tails up, the barbs glistening. With speed that shouldn't have been surprising, but was, it drew back its tails and then lashed them forward, the barbs flinging toward Squall. He held up his gunblade, deflecting two on the shining metal, but one sliced deeply into his neck before embedding itself into the wall behind him. He really, really hoped they weren't poisonous

It took him a few moments to charge up a higher level fire spell, moments in which he had to dodge the cat twice, and managed to score another deep cut, this one on its underbelly. After the second leap, before it could turn back around to face him, Squall lashed out with a fierce kick, catching the creature under its hindlegs and flipping it over onto its back. The fire spell practically sang as he cast it, and the animal's unprotected, already wounded belly was engulfed in the magic in mere seconds. After the flames died down, Squall checked to make sure it was dead, and then left the washroom.

Well, at least Strife wasn't a liar.

•••

After a few moments of tense silence, Tifa found her voice. "What was he doing?"

Cloud stared up at her, blue eyes slightly clouded. "He knows that the SeeD are his biggest opposition, he wanted to wipe out their base when Squall was distracted. The extra deaths would add to this planet's life stream, too."

Standard operating procedure for Sephiroth, but Cloud had to know that wasn't the question she was asking. Things had always been _strange _with Cloud, especially when Sephiroth was concerned. The admiration bordering on devotion, the obsessive need on both their parts, that twisted control…but it had all been wrong, sick, depraved. None of it was something Cloud could actually embrace, was it? She knew Cloud had problems, but that went right out of the realm of 'problem' and into 'dangerous'.

She'd stayed behind in case he needed help, ready to interfere in the fight despite the fact that Sephiroth could, and had, crushed her without even thinking about it. But she'd been waiting until Cloud was in real trouble, and that was her mistake. If she hadn't waited so long this wouldn't have happened, _this shouldn't have happened._ Cloud needed something stable, something normal and warm, something that Tifa could give him. But what if he didn't _want _that? It was wrong to try to force him into something, especially considering the guilt complex she knew he had.

But whatever she 'forced' him into, it would be better than Sephiroth.

And he probably knew that. As long as Tifa had known Cloud he'd been desperate to give of himself to please others, desperate to do anything he could to please her specifically. He'd love her if he could, and she knew it. Who was she to be so damned selfish when he had this thing with Sephiroth hanging over his head?

Tifa walked over, dropped to her knees, and wrapped her arms around Cloud. "It's all right."

"Tifa, I'm sorry." He sounded so very far away. "I didn't even remember, or I would have told you, I promise. And it's so hard, and I know you love me and I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she whispered, smoothing down his hair as if he were a child. "None of it was ever your fault."

Not the bridge, not her father, not the burning, not Aeris, not the black materia, not his feelings for Tifa extending to nothing beyond friendship. He tried so damn hard, and gave everything he had; none of them had any right to demand anything more of him. They all wanted him to be stronger than he was, when he was impossibly strong already. A miracle ten times over that he hadn't permanently self destructed.

Tifa kissed Cloud gently on his forehead, the only kiss she'd ever ask of him ever again. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't hers either. All she could do now was help him through this and hope the outcome didn't destroy him completely.

Knowing that didn't make letting him go hurt any less.

•••

Rinoa sat on the teacher's desk at the front of the room, alternately chanting cure spells over the students and protection spells over Irvine and Vincent. Something was wrong beyond the monsters; she'd have been an idiot not to have seen it. Vincent was far too tense, from what little she knew of the man, and Irvine had whispered 'we'll tell you later' into her ear before he'd gone to lean out an open window and snipe at aerial beasts. All she could do know was wait and help. However, she was more than a little angry at Squall; for him treating her like a child and having her locked up in this classroom for her own protection as if she couldn't fight.

So what if she didn't _like _it, if the fierce joy the SeeDs took in battling and killing sickened her to see, even in her friends. She could still defend herself and others, and was more than powerful enough. She was a Sorceress in everything but power lust and name; she should be out there fighting, too. But Squall was, and she supposed always would be, her Knight, and duty bound to see her safely through everything, even if he wasn't her boyfriend anymore. That had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, which was saying a lot. She loved Squall, really she did, but it was part of love to know when staying together was hurting more than helping. Still, Rinoa wished there had been a way to work it out.

More than that she wished he'd shown some indication that he even cared she'd just broken up with him. She'd take no pleasure in his pain, but with all the hurt she was feeling, it might have been soothing to know it was mutual, that he cared about her enough to hurt for the loss of her. Selfish and needy, true, but simply human all the same. Rinoa kept telling herself that it was simply Squall's way of coping, but logic very rarely had a say in this sort of emotional problem. Why was he such a jerk? Such a brave, wonderful, smart jerk?

It would be easier now to hate him, but she just couldn't.

She was very tempted to go over to Irvine right now and ask him how he and Selphie managed it, as if there were some shareable secret to making a relationship work. Maybe there was, and no one had bothered to tell her in the recent chaos of her life. More likely it was simply denied to her family; after all, she and her father did seem to suffer from a complete inability to communicate with each other.

Rinoa cast another shield spell over Irvine just in time for the magic to deflect the flare of a fire spell from outside. At least in here she was useful, and cheered herself up slightly by knowing that she'd saved a few of the student's limbs, if not lives. It felt good to be needed, to know she was doing something important to help. That urge was part of the reason she'd formed the Timber Owls, slightly dysfunctional rebel group though they had been. Rinoa smiled crookedly, remembering how the relatively simple days of the Timber Owls had seemed so important and complicated at the time, a great big mission.

Timber was free now, Galbadia unable to hold onto its conquered lands in the aftermath of the Sorceress crisis and the new attacks from Sephiroth. Rinoa's goal had been achieved at last, but not by the means she would have liked. Train hijacking and botched kidnappings aside, Rinoa had always hoped for a peaceful revolution, one carried to the masses on television waves and implemented with as little bloodshed as possible. She was an idealist at heart, and she knew it. It would be nice to go back to Timber now, to see it free and help it stand on the shaky legs of independence, to do something really worth while again.

But could she leave them? She loved them all, Squall especially, and he'd been the force tying her here for so long. How could she get on without Selphie's games or Quistis's quiet, sage advice? Irvine's flirting or Zell's exuberance? How could she ever get on without Squall? It seemed impossible. But she loved Zone and Watts, too, and the people of Timber. Home was where you made it, where you dug out a place for yourself in the hearts of people and were content to stay there, warm and sheltered. Garden didn't feel like home anymore, and if she cared to admit it, it hadn't felt like home to her for a very long time. Did that make her a bad person, she wondered.

The minutes crawled by, and gradually everything descended into quiet. Guns no longer boomed at the door and window; no one screamed in pain or battle fury out in the halls; the growling and yelping of monsters tapered off and ceased. It was over, whatever it had been, but Rinoa had the sinking feeling they'd only entered the eye of the storm.

•••

Irvine holed himself up in the weapons storage room, having obtained permission from a significantly paled Squall to clean and organize the deadly clutter. He knew what the others would be doing: Squall was most certainly brooding; Quistis would be drinking her own weight in coffee; Zell killing things in the training center; Rinoa (sweet, oblivious Rinoa) searching desperately for answers no one wanted to give; his own Selphie would be cheerfully playing that nothing was amiss. Irvine didn't want to imagine nothing had happened, but he didn't want to dwell on it, either, he just wanted something to do with his hands. Busy work, to keep him calm and occupied, to keep him from babbling his head off to the nearest available victim, keep him from digging out that almost forgotten pack of cigarettes and a case of beer.

Cleaning the pistols was easy, almost the first thing he'd ever learned to do. He, unlike the others, even retained hazy memories of before the orphanage, and he'd known how to clean guns then, too. Small, grubby hands making sure that nothing would ever go wrong, handing the weapons off to a woman he supposed he should recognize, but she'd gone all blurry in his head. Irvine might not lose his memories to anything but nature, but that was enough.

Damn it, he'd _liked _Vincent Valentine. Irvine hadn't been about to declare them bosom-buddies or anything, but he'd gotten used to the creep-factor of the other man, and found that a quiet sort of understanding grew between them. Irvine didn't think Vincent was absolutely bug fuck, and Valentine didn't think Irvine was completely incompetent, so it worked out well.

And he still liked Vincent Valentine.

Quistis, painfully logical Quistis who'd been taught through time and trial that emotions - the emotions telling her that Vincent was no different, no less suspect (for whatever that was worth) than he'd been yesterday - were something to be kept far, far away from the SeeD uniform, couldn't tear her conceptions of Vincent away from that…_thing. _Nobody else particularly wanted to.

Irvine knew how to clean and load a gun at the age of five, knew how to make sure daggers wouldn't rust and how to clean the blood off of a sword. Irvine had been born among fighting and hadn't left death behind him for any significant time in his life, except for that halcyon dream of the orphanage that somehow seemed less real than the memories painted in violence. Irvine knew about monsters, especially the ones that lived burrowed in the souls of people.

So what if Valentine's monsters were a little more vocal than everyone else's? If anything, it made the man more honest. When everyone could see exactly what you could do pissed off, there wasn't much use in pretending Sainthood.

Irvine knew about pretending, too. _That _was what they taught in Galbadia. Smile and nod and pretend you're going to a picnic, not to splatter out some guy's brains just because he pissed off someone with money. Twenty push ups if you look guilty about it.

And damn, but they'd stared in the face of _bitch ass pure as fuck **evil **_today. Irvine considered Valentine's strange quirks the least of their worries. Sephiroth, Jenova, Cloud, _whoever _they had to worry about, they should worry about it, and stop making side trips into 'but he grew _wings_'.

Irvine figured that if his burrowed little soul monster manifested, it would have wings, too.

"Irvine?"

Selphie's voice startled him so much that he nearly dropped the six shooter he'd been holding. He turned to her and gave the best smile he could manage, considering the circumstances.

"Hey sweetheart," he drawled, pretending nothing was bothering him for her sake.

Damn, but sometimes he could swear he was in love with Selphie. Not that love was a foreign emotion to Irvine Kinneas; he just…liked sleeping around with everything that 'was warm and had a hole', as one of his Galbadian instructors had so charmingly put it. He didn't do that anymore, couldn't bring himself to.

"You know," Selphie remarked, eerily calm, "I didn't even realize this room existed. I got all my weapons from Trabia, or in the field."

"Which reminds me!" They both needed the distraction, and this seemed the perfect time. "I got you a present."

He'd never bought Selphie flowers, though he was sure she'd enjoy them. Flowers were for people like the girls from town, girls like Rinoa, girls who were still mirrored in the softness of the petals, who smelled like perfume instead of metal, death and gunpowder.

She smiled, her strange quiet evaporating. "Really?"

"Nope," he teased, sauntering over to her and poking a finger into her forehead, grinning as she went cross eyed. "I lied. Of course really."

She grabbed his hand and pulled it down into hers, delicate little fingers almost strong enough to snap his own.

"Where is it?" She demanded, bouncing on her feet. "Where is it, where is it?"

"Close your eyes," he commanded, extracting his hand from her grip and walking across the room to grab something off one of the tables before coming back to her and placing it in her hands.

"Ooooh!" She cooed as she held up the nunchaku, eyes shining. "Irvine, it's beautiful!"

"It's not as powerful as Strange Vision," he told her, almost apologetically, "but you're always complaining it's a waste to use such a powerful weapon on everything you see, and I saw this one and thought you'd like it."

The nunchaku really did remind him of Selphie; though it was a wonder anyone had thought to make a _sparkly yellow _weapon. There was more than one Selphie populating SeeD, it seemed.

She placed the weapon on the nearest table and pounced on him, laughing when he stumbled backwards under her weight as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She took the cowboy hat off his head and threw it onto the table with the weapon.

"It's great!" She declared, and kissed his nose. "I love it!"

Maybe he did love her. Maybe he could only love a girl who could sneak up behind a guy and snap his neck with the chains of her flail before he even knew what hit him, maybe he could only love a girl who'd seen him kill, seen him half dead, seen him cry because he thought the world was going to end and it was a damn fine time for crying.

She had a monster in her soul, beneath exuberance and cheer, and he loved that monster, too.

He carried her slim weight over to the table, sat her down next to a cowboy hat with bloodstains on the brim and a sparkly yellow nunchaku.

"I love _you_," he whispered into her hair, smiling, and then titled her face up to kiss her before she could ask him if he really meant it.

_Remind me I'm human, _he begged her silently. _Remind me that we're warm, and alive, and the monsters haven't won us all, not yet._

And Selphie understood.


	11. That Went Less Than Well

My apologies - there really is no excuse for how long it took me to get this up here. I've had it done for awhile, but the holidays got a little overwhelming, to make an excuse. As always, love to my beta, Eva, who gives me someone to whine to. Also, she corrects my horrendous abuses of innocent commas.

Konitsu

°°°

Squall wasn't quite sure why he wasn't carrying his gunblade, or why Zell wasn't wearing his gloves. After all, they'd just repelled an attack on their Garden, so to leave in the first place was bordering on neglect or insanity, much less wandering around weaponless. Still, here they were walking down to Balamb in the misty, humid twilight, unarmed but junctioned, trying to act something less than paranoid. Squall told himself he'd promised Zell they'd check on the town, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that even his beloved Garden felt stifling right now, full of little reminders of mutants, hurt kids, and Rinoa.

Zell had taken a blow to the side that had needed three high level cure spells and some stitching on top of that, and he was walking with his jacket off to lessen the pull of fabric across his wounded ribs. Squall grit his teeth and was almost surprised by his sudden desire to resurrect whatever creature had done that and beat it into a pulp, again. His own wound didn't bother him much, he'd waved away a cure – wanted it to go to someone who needed it more – and the careful stitches and butterfly bandages were nothing he wasn't used to. The worst injury at Garden had been a SeeD's busted ribs, which was pretty damn lucky, considering.

"Man," Zell said, lifting his shirt up to prod at the bandages. "Ma's gonna flip if she sees this."

Ma Dincht 'flipping' was an experience Squall was all too familiar with. He'd stayed very, very quiet in a secluded corner the day after they'd come back from a mission that gave Zell a gash across his right bicep that she'd taken considerable objection to. They'd cured most traces of the wound, and it hadn't even scarred, but she'd still been hell's vengeance walking. It was, Squall figured, her way of expressing her worry, since the Dinchts couldn't be depended on to display their emotions in any way that counted as _normal. _That was one of the things Squall liked about Zell and his mother.

"If you actually keep your shirt down, she might not notice," Squall pointed out, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Zell snorted. "She'll notice as soon as she hugs me and I yelp."

"Squeak," Squall corrected languidly.

The blond scowled, pulling his shirt back down. "I don't squeak."

"Yes, you do." Never in battle, though. Only when you caught him afterward and had to pull the make shift bandages a little tighter around his arm did he actually squeak; it was faintly bizarre.

"Well, if I squeak, then you moan." Zell paused, flushing. "That didn't sound right, did it?"

Squall coughed, trying to hide his own slight blush by taking sudden notice of the rising moon (though really, living around Irvine so long should have inured him to this). Zell glanced around them, peering into the fog as if he expected Seifer to jump out of the gloom, point and them and start cackling at the sexual innuendo.

"You've been hanging out with Irvine too much," Squall said, paraphrasing his own thoughts.

"Ya, well..." Zell kicked listlessly at the scruffy grass. "Not like anyone else is around to hang out with. Selphie's always got some activity, and Quistis is teaching, and you -"

"I?" Had Squall's instincts been up to their usual level, he'd have realized he was walking straight into a big emotional time bomb that he really didn't want to be involved in right then. Unfortunately, lack of sleep and a trying day had dulled his 'oh shit, abandon ship' sensors.

"Nothing, man, forget about it."

Zell had never, ever been a very good liar, and he was also about as subtle as a brick forcefully applied to the back of one's head. Even _Squall _could figure out when something was upsetting him, and when he was trying to hide it. Squall stopped walking, and Zell's steps puttered out, the blond turning to face him.

"What?" Squall demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and putting on his best Commander Face.

Zell seemed as if he were trying to figure out whether to be deferential or angry, clenching his fists but refusing to maintain eye contact with Squall, instead finding great interest in the grass. "It's not important."

"Zell." The 'I am not in the mood for this' tone had been perfected over the years, though he usually only had call to use it on Seifer. Squall had already had his emotions run the wringer today, and whatever Zell wanted to say he had to spit it out now so Squall could tell him he was being an idiot and they could get on with their lives.

Zell snapped his head up, finally meeting Squall's eyes. "I know you're Commander and a lot of shit's going on lately, but you never have time for anybody anymore, if we're not talking 'business'." He frowned. "Anybody except Rinoa."

Squall scowled. "Are you pissed at me or are you pissed at Rinoa? Because I _told _you..."

The blond snorted and saluted, the gesture practically dripping infuriated sarcasm. "I'll make a memo that Squall is now allowed to order us how to _feel_."

Squall had almost forgotten that arguing with Zell was like running headlong into a brick wall, over and over again – infuriating, painful, and it got you absolutely nowhere.

"Whatever your problem is," Squall said, "don't blame it on Rinoa."

"I'm not blaming it on Rinoa!" Zell exclaimed. "I like Rinoa, the fact that I'm _mad _at Rinoa right now means fuck all!"

"Well, you shouldn't be mad at her!" The other problem with arguing with Zell was that he, quickly and inevitably, dragged you down to his level, and everything dissolved into incoherency sooner rather than later.

"That's not what this is about!" Zell waved his hands wildly, though what the hell he was attempting to communicate with the gestures was lost on Squall. "This is about you thinking that having a social life beyond your girlfriend -"

"She's not my girlfriend," Squall muttered, trying to ignore the twinge of pain that sent through him.

"Will give you cancer or something! When was the last time we had a conversation that didn't involve the world ending?"

"Zell, _it doesn't matter._"

"Like hell it doesn't!" Zell rolled his eyes. "Damn it, you're such a moody bitch when you're not getting -"

If anyone were to ask Squall later, he would have sworn Zell could have dodged the punch. Zell was, after all, much faster than Squall, but both of them had forgotten over the course of the impromptu argument to remember that Zell was just the slightest bit injured. The punch connected on Zell's jaw and the martial artist reacted as his instincts told him to, but after the kick slammed Squall backwards, Zell fell to the ground clutching his ribs and hacking.

Squall got his wind back fairly quickly, thanks to the healing spells junctioned onto Bahamut, and he practically scrambled over to where Zell sat coughing.

"Well," Zell commented, "that was dumb."

"Sorry," Squall said, wincing at the hoarse pain in Zell's voice.

"Hey, you apologized." Zell managed a smile. "Considering that's something of a miracle, I'll refrain from exacting my mighty revenge and killing you where you stand."

Squall helped Zell to his feet, muttering a cure spell as he did so. Zell rewarded his efforts with another smile, this one much less forced.

"I'm sorry too." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I shouldn't have said that, but...it's been a long fucking day."

And Zell usually had the mental censoring abilities of a six year old on speed _anyway. _Squall was more than used to Zell putting his foot in his mouth, but today had frayed both their nerves. Hell, acting like an asshole for a minute or two had even been slightly therapeutic, though he wasn't in a mind to have another argument with Zell anytime soon; if he ever threw a punch at the martial artist when he wasn't injured, they'd both be smears on the grass before the fight ended.

"Let's get to Balamb," Squall said, cutting off the need for anymore awkward apologies.

"Ya. Thanks."

°°°

Zell's mother didn't even try to look like she hadn't been waiting for them. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, the frown lines on her face more pronounced than usual as they walked toward her.

"I don't suppose," she said, as soon as they were within earshot, "that anyone is going to give me an explanation?"

Sena Dincht had lost a father and a husband to the military in senseless, brutal wars; she kept their guns and their medals, their pictures nestled in dusty old corners, reproachful eyes watching whoever wandered the floors of the little Dincht house. Still, somehow, she gave her son - who'd she'd chosen out of all the others and raised no matter how much of a hassle his energy made him - up to Squall's keeping. And could Squall even offer her an explanation about what sort of danger Zell was dragged into, simply for being what a SeeD was?

No. It was against regulation, and Commanders had to follow regulation, no matter how heavy the stare of their friend's mother weighed.

Squall shook his head, trying to ignore the expression of resignation on her face.

"It's not too bad, Ma," Zell lied cheerfully, bouncing on his heels. "Just something civilians can't handle." He waved a hand. "No training."

"I'd noticed." She gestured to the spot where blood had stained the cobblestones. "Old Jerai got himself killed, he refused to come inside. His granddaughter's not taking it very well."

She led the boys inside her small, clean home without saying anything further, letting them make of the death what they would. Squall was bending down to unlace his boots (no shoes in the house, he'd learned that rule quickly) when Ma Dincht swept forward and hugged her son with all the abrupt gracefulness Squall was used to seeing out of Zell. The martial artist did his best not to show how much it hurt him, very admirably not squeaking. Another cure spell was easy enough for Squall to summon to his fingertips, and the whisper of magic was too slight for the woman to notice, but it eased Zell's pain enough for him to quickly return the embrace.

This house, through the crisis with the Sorceress and afterward, had become the only place where Squall could feel like a teenager. At Garden he was Commander, responsible and strong, even with Rinoa he was Knight. Ma Dincht didn't allow anyone in her house to be anything they weren't, and Squall wasn't anything more than a socially awkward eighteen year old to her keen eye. Sometimes he liked it, sometimes it made him unspeakably uncomfortable; some of the others, like Irvine, would live here if they could. Squall had no idea what Zell felt when he came home, and if there were changes in the blond's manner they were only the deceptions he always made to keep his mother happy and relatively unworried.

Ma Dincht pushed them down into chairs at the kitchen table with unbending authority, telling Squall to take off his coat and peering at Zell suspiciously, obviously not entirely fooled by the cure spell Squall had cast.

"You boys just sit there," she said, "I've had water on for coffee."

Damn, but did coffee sound really good right then. Squall couldn't remember the last time he'd had caffeine, or eaten, really. Probably yesterday – or maybe even the day before – because he could remember Rinoa saying something disapproving and disgusted as he found a can of whipped cream in the minifridge and ate it straight. He'd paid her nagging no never mind at the time; he had things to do, the whipped cream was the only unexpired thing in the room, and he didn't have time to find anything to eat it on; if he did he'd have gotten a _real _breakfast. Now, he'd give anything to hear her sleepy commentary on his less than stellar eating habits.

Squall tipped his head back and sighed. Damn it, this was eating away at him too much.

"Hey, you okay?" Zell asked.

Squall just looked at him, trying to convey in silence exactly how much he didn't want to talk about what he was thinking. Zell, for once in his life, got the hint, and returned to trying to look as if he were in perfect health.

The coffee was good, no cream and lots of sugar just how Squall liked it – though he could see across the table that Zell was actually drinking hot chocolate – and accompanied by a tray of tuna sandwiches and cookies. Squall had never tasted anything so good in his life. Junctioned strength and SeeD resilience could only go so far, and two days of forgetting about food had Squall eating faster than was strictly politely. Oddly enough, Zell ate slower when he was truly hungry, as if he were trying to savor everything, even tuna fish; his pace was leisurely today, and Squall wondered how long it had been since even Zell had a free moment in the chaos to go to the cafeteria.

Ma Dincht walked up to the table and planted her hands on her hips, all authority. "Take off your shirt."

Squall coughed a little into his coffee mug, startled for a moment into thinking she was talking to him, but Zell was peeling his black top off almost sheepishly, exposing the bandages wrapped around his ribs and already stained with blood. Unconsciously, Squall's hand raised to his neck to press against his own wound, drawing some bizarre grounding from the sharp sting of pain.

Not every wound could be fixed with a cure spell, especially if nobody got there fast enough when a fighter lay passed out and bleeding. Zell had a fairly new scar above his heart, a jagged line from serrated claws; a trophy of their last mission, when keeping Irvine's eye firmly in his head and fully functioning had been more of a priority than Zell's wound, and then Selphie had almost needed a finger reattached. That had been the mission from _hell_, but luckily Ma Dincht didn't comment on the scar in favor of frowning sternly at the bandages, as if they were somehow at fault.

"Broken?" She asked, and Squall knew she was asking in the past tense. No way Zell would be here if they were _still _broken.

Zell shrugged. "No. Cracked. They're fine now, Ma, I swear. The monsters we were fighting, Quistis thinks they had something in their claws that makes it harder for the gashes to heal or something. But she packed me full of Esuna and it should start clotting soon." He smiled, teeth flashing in the desperately hopeful curve of his mouth. "Don't worry about it."

"It hurts," she said.

Her son shifted uncomfortably. "Well, ya. But I've had bruised ribs before, and it's just a _scratch._"

There was some little part of Squall, the bit that was the cold, authoritative Commander through and through, that wanted to catalog Zell's wounds for his mother. Bruised ribs, diagonal gash six inches long, too much bleeding; lowered reflexes, lower pain threshold, waning strength. Slightly unbalanced Commander keeps pumping him full of cure spells, which is bound to send him loopy eventually.

Squall snorted, but the Dinchts ignored him in favor of their staring match.

It was the mother who relented. "I'm going to check on Jerai's girl," she told them, "I want you to finish eating and get some sleep. You both look like hell warmed over."

Zell pulled his shirt back on. "Yes, Ma."

Squall just nodded his assent.

°°°

"Miss Trepe?"

Quistis started in surprised, and realized that she'd been blocking the hallway. How long she'd been standing there she didn't know, but she'd been spaced out for at least five minutes, by her estimation. Her mind didn't usually wander off, but that day had just hit her like a sack of bricks all of a sudden. She turned to find Valentine frowning at her, but the expression seemed somehow more worried than disapproving.

_Wings, stretching above them like the monster was trying to blot out the sky. Teeth and claws and power compacted, something not human, something just not _right_, and it turned into Vincent Valentine._

It took Quistis a moment to speak, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "Mr. Valentine," she managed finally, forcing the words out through the nervous instinct to back away slowly and draw her weapon.

_Not human, not human not human not _human.

"I told you to call me Vincent." His tone was perfectly neutral, careful and steady in a way that spoke of practice at it.

_He's a good man _and _he's a monster_ chased themselves around Quistis's head, tinged with the background music of Chaos's eerie laughter. It would have been easier to take, perhaps, if Chaos was all there was to Valentine – they dealt with the Guardian Forces after all, let them live in their heads. But a GF was a GF and a man was a man, and there was something animal about Diablos and Ifrit and Chaos that didn't belong in any human soul.

Then again, he had friends, a lover. Quistis had even liked him, in that naïve time between talking and battle, before she'd seen what prowled behind unnatural red eyes. There had to be something there worth liking, worth caring about, something human that wouldn't scare her half to death. Irrational fear, however, would always be irrational fear.

Vincent's frown, by this time, had wandered into 'disapproving' at Quistis's silence. She wondered if he could guess her thoughts, if he resented her for them.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to pretend he was a student who had stepped out of bounds, or an enemy that was staring her down; those she could face with her equilibrium safely intact.

"You can take your hand off your weapon," he said, and Quistis realized with a start that she'd settled her fingers around the handle of her whip. "I'm not going to rip out your heart and eat it." He paused, eyed her thoughtfully. "Today."

He swept off down the hallway, gliding past her with an elegance that was even more disconcerting than Cloud's. At least Cloud was simply, unavoidably superhuman – Vincent Valentine was ethereal, otherworldly...and Quistis was having a very hard time convince herself that he'd been joking.

_Sarcasm as a defense mechanism, _she reminded herself sternly. _You've seen it before, you've used it before. _Quistis stared after him, the edges of his cloak fluttering like broken bat wings. _Is it any surprise that his defense mechanism is a little morbid?_

She wasn't in any condition to deal with this right now, in any case. Trying to deal with logical reactions verses emotional ones was hard enough on a good day, without everyone so high strung from attacks and injuries. It would be easier to avoid Valentine for now, and ask questions once she'd calmed down a little. _If _she calmed down a little.

"I wonder if Nida needs someone to take the night watch," she wondered aloud, and then made for the bridge.

°°°

There was something wrong with Vincent. Okay, there was pretty much _always _something wrong with Vincent, but today Cid was fairly sure the problem was more specific than the usual angst and irritation. He was taking a shower, which wouldn't have been an issue if Vincent took showers at night; he hated going to bed with wet hair, and avoided it at all costs. Considering he wasn't covered with blood tonight and the medical staff of Garden had cleaned up his wound, Vincent was in the shower because he wanted to beat the living hell out of someone and was channeling his frustrations or some psychological bullshit like that.

Somebody was probably going to have to replace gouged shower tiles.

Cid sighed and lit another cigarette. He'd known this was going to happen, after Vincent had flipped out. Hell, they'd been uncomfortable with Vincent the first time he'd changed – a man pops out of a coffin spouting cryptic shit and then turns purple and scaly? It was bound to screw with anybody's head. How could he fault a bunch of kids for being freaked?

Easily. Really fucking easily. This was _Vincent_, and Cid had never been in the habit of letting his lovers take flak from idiots...or smart people, or anybody. Vincent could turn into a damned dancing purple hippopotamus and it wouldn't be any of their business, or any of their right to piss him off. Somebody had stared at him in fear, probably, backed away from him, made a quick note of all the exists, their eyes darting even if they didn't notice it. Somebody here had treated him like an enemy, and as much as it made Vincent angry, it pissed Cid the fuck off, too.

All emotions aside, it wasn't good that the SeeDs weren't keen on trusting either Cloud or Vincent, now. They needed all the trust they could get, and Cid's experiences in the air force had quickly taught him that it wasn't the enemies you had to worry about, it was the assholes behind your own lines.

"Not our lines, though," he grumbled. "Theirs, and we're the damned intruders here."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Damn, but he was getting too damn old for this shit. Maybe thirty-two wasn't old in the real world, but he was surrounded by teenagers and lunatics all damn day, and Cloud and Tifa weren't much better than either of those categories. He loved those kids to death, really he did, but sometimes they drove him up the god damned wall. Cloud had the company of the voices in his head, and some days Cid wanted to have Shera take Tifa quietly to the side to explain how to stop wanting what you can't have.

"Too fucking old."

"If you're too old, what does that make me?" Vincent asked from the bathroom doorway, though Cid hadn't even noticed the water shutting off.

"That doesn't count," Cid said, "and you know it."

Vincent shrugged and returned to towel drying his hair with a little too much force, looking more frazzled than Cid was used to seeing him. Probably nobody else would notice (Cloud, _maybe_), but Vincent's movements were too jerky, the lines that had just began creasing around his eyes folded a little too deep with his frown. And, well...

"Vin," Cid said, quite calmly, "those are my pants."

Looking down at the three or so inches of heel that were revealed by the sweat pants and the too loose waist with something resembling surprise, Vincent just shrugged. "Maybe if you'd clean up every once in awhile, I'd be able to find my own pants."

"We're not staying here, there's no damn reason to clean up."

Vincent glared. "Maybe so I can find my pants."

"Who needs pants anyway?"

"I can't imagine they'd be anymore shocked than they are already, even if I did walk around without pants," Vincent muttered, dropping the towel to the floor (Cid made a mental note to bring that up if Vincent started harping about cleanliness again) to finger comb his hair.

"Which one of them was it?" Cid asked, trying to look as un-homicidal as possible.

"Quistis," Vincent replied, frowning at a knot in his hair to avoid meeting Cid's eyes.

Cid winced. Quistis had been friendly with them, and for as little as a few chats counted, her judgment still probably hurt more than, say, Leonhart's. Stupid girl.

"I'll-"

Vincent cut him off. "Nothing. You won't be doing _anything. _You won't threaten her, or growl at her, or look at her funny or try to blow her up."

Cid crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "I've never tried to blow anyone up," he objected.

"Highwind, you carried around dynamite for half of our journey, and were severely disappointed when you ran out."

If there was one thing good for distracting Vincent from his angst, it was pointless sarcastic banter. There was something about playing with words that he just couldn't resist, and though Cid's sarcasm had grown a little rusty over the years, he was improving.

"There's a difference," he said, "between being prepared and blowing people up."

Vincent sighed and rolled his eyes. "In any case – you'll leave her be. I'll have enough problems without you charging to my rescue."

"Rescue?" Cid asked. "Who said anything about rescue? I'm allowed to be pissed off on my own time. Just because it happens to coincide with her being a bitch to you means absolutely nothing."

"Your hero complex is showing," Vincent drawled.

"I don't have a damned hero complex. _Tifa _might. I have a grumpy old man complex – means I have the right to blow up whoever pisses me off."

"Did you make that up all by yourself?" Vincent drawled sarcastically, and then abruptly steered the conversation back onto the more serious topic. "I'm serious, Cid, leave her be. She has a right to be frightened of what I am."

"Fine," Cid growled. "But anyone sets you to brooding and I have the right to rip some new assholes."

"I don't brood."

The statement was so patently false that it bordered on the ridiculous, and Vincent had to know it. Cid tried very, very hard not to laugh, but his efforts failed miserably and Vincent scooped the wet towel back up off the floor to fling it in Cid's face. The pilot had no choice but to retaliate, and a short scuffle later Vincent was perched triumphantly on the desk chair, his feet on Cid's chest as the older man lay on the floor looking not at all apologetic.

"That was so fucking mature."

"Turks learn to use all weapons at their disposal in a time of combat," Vincent said, sounding like he was quoting something he'd heard far too many times. "Including towels." He shifted his foot so that his toes were pressing slightly on Cid's throat, a weird gesture that would have been a threat to anyone else. "Promise me you won't say anything to Quistis. Chaos is a monster, and it's not her fault she's scared."

Cid wanted to argue, really he did, but sometimes arguing just wasn't the answer (it had taken him awhile and a few bruises to learn that special lesson). "Damn it," he grumbled. "Fine."

"Promise."

Shit. Vincent knew him all too well.

"I swear on my mother's grave," he intoned solemnly.

Vincent glared. "Highwind, you never knew your mother, much less if she's dead or not."

"She could be." Cid pointedly ignored his partner's exasperated eyeroll. "And if she's not, I swear on her eventual grave."

"I'm holding you to that."

Cid held up his arms, obviously asking for a hand up off the floor. Vincent removed his feet from Cid's chest and stood up to grasp the pilot's hands, and was rewarded for his courtesy when Cid yanked him to the floor.

If Cid couldn't go out and yell at Quistis, the least he could do was distract Vincent from the nightmares he knew would be coming.

°°°

When living in Shinra barracks, the main forms of entertainment usually came in the form of copious amounts of alcohol or smacking a tennis ball against the wall until you were too damn tired to do it anymore. Allowances hadn't been high enough to allow anything else, though Cloud had once thought that if he'd had any friends other than Zack, he might be introduced to such acts as 'talking' and 'card games'. No, it had been the tennis ball for him, and he'd found the smooth throw-catch-throw action soothing after a time, normal and steady. He was always good enough to catch a tennis ball, no matter what he failed at.

Now, forever and a day away from the Shinra barracks, Cloud found himself wishing for a tennis ball to throw against the shiny steel walls of the SeeD dorm.

_Who am I? _Even for Cloud it was too simple a question to frame what was going on. He was Cloud Strife, Zack Charon, whoever he was he still shouldn't be kissing villainy. There had to be a rule against that somewhere. It was in the handbook – 'So, you want to save the world. _Stop macking on evil, dipshit!'_

The hypothetical handbook sounded surprisingly like Yuffie.

Cloud slammed his head back against the wall as an impromptu substitute for the tennis ball, and found it only slightly less gratifying. He had to clear his head, had to stop thinking like a love sick teenager and start thinking like...

Like what? A hero? Cloud snorted.

So, 'love sick teenager' and 'slightly deluded twenty something' were all he had to work with in the personality department. There had to be something there he could use, or he wouldn't have been able to defeat Sephiroth in the first place. But this wasn't defeating him, this was something so much more difficult. Of course, the hardest step of the process might just be convincing everyone else how insane Cloud _wasn't _for thinking up the whole damn thing.

He'd convinced Leonhart to hold a meeting tomorrow, after the commander got back from checking on the loyal villagers, or what have you. That was a step, a good step; if he could get them to listen to him, maybe the SeeDs at least would agree to go along with it. Tifa's trust he had, implicitly, and she'd support him if only to show that she didn't think he was absolutely off his fucking rocker. Cid and Vincent would be the problem, too bizarrely paternal to let Cloud put himself in danger in the name of a whole mess of maybes. Luckily, he only had to convince one of them, and they'd do the work on the other for him.

This was all getting a little too convoluted.

Why couldn't this problem be limited to Jenova? Or, at least, why couldn't she have dragged someone like Hojo along for the ride? Cloud would have no problems with blowing that skeeze bag to hell and back again, and it'd probably be stress relief for all of them. No, this was Sephiroth, and Cloud's memories were, more and more, marking him as _human. _Sarcastic, stand offish, and easily irritated, yes, but also protective, and intelligent, and clever.

At what point did you justify murder?

_Not to instigate or anything, _Zack said, _and I do like Seph almost as much as you do, but he did try to blow up the planet. It kind of sucked._

Cloud shook his head. "Jenova did that. It's not...I don't know anymore."

_Sleep on it._

It was a better idea than anything else Cloud had right now.

°°°

Zell's bedroom floor had always been surprisingly comfortable, especially when Ma Dincht threw enough blankets at the guest to make a good mattress on the floor. Still, despite blankets and a comfortable floor and complete exhaustion, Squall couldn't sleep. He'd tried so hard not to get attached to Rinoa, or even the idea of Rinoa, but sleeping by himself seemed strangely empty now.

Weakness he could scarcely afford, especially since he needed the damned rest.

At least Zell seemed to be having no such problems. The blond lay curled up on his good side, sleeping as he always had in a small, tight ball. Squall didn't know if it was an instinctual measure of protection, or something brought on by a childhood fear of Seifer killing him in his sleep. There was never any telling these things, with Zell.

But even as Squall started to grumpily envy Zell for his ability to fall asleep, the blond shifted slightly.

"Hey, Squall," he said softly, low enough that he wouldn't wake up Squall if the commander were, in fact, sleeping. "You awake?"

Squall could quite easily ignore him, close his eyes and pretend, but for some reason he didn't want to. "Yes."

"You...okay?" It was at least the fifth time that day Zell had asked.

"_Yes._" Squall rolled his eyes. "I am functioning perfectly, and I think I would have noticed if I'd gained any debilitating physical deformities in the _past three hours._"

Zell rolled over and stretched out on his back so that he could turn his head and look at Squall. "Not what I mean."

Squall raised a hand to his face, pressing his fingers against his forehead as he sighed. "Zell," he said, slowly. "I'm okay, or I will be."

"She shouldn't have done that." Squall, though he couldn't make out Zell's features perfectly in the dark, could imagine the indignant glare. "It's not fair to you!"

"Life usually isn't," Squall said.

"Sometimes, baby, I worry about you."

His answer was a soft, disbelieving snort. A few minutes of confused, thick silence drifted through the room, as if Zell couldn't figure out whether to shut up and go to sleep or continue pressing Squall's emotional buttons.

"Okay, I'm not fine," Squall admitted. "But it doesn't matter. We've got better things to worry about than whether or not Rinoa loves me anymore." It was a challenge to keep his voice steady, but he managed.

Zell reached down and found Squall's shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly. "Shit's going to work out, I know it."

Who was Squall to break the one bubble of hope and optimism Zell had left? "It always does."

°°°

Quistis needed to talk to somebody, and while Irvine wasn't her first choice, everyone else was currently preoccupied or gone from Garden completely. Besides, Irvine could be a great help when he put his mind to it and stopped being aggravating, so it was no big hardship to knock briskly on the door to his room. Unfortunately, Irvine had not deigned to put a shirt on or tie his hair back, so his freshly awake appearance didn't really set the mood for serious discussion.

"Quisty?" He muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Usually he only called her by the old nickname when he wanted to aggravate her, but coming from a dream-addled mind, it simply sounded affectionate and a little confused.

"It's 0800, Irvine," she said, "why aren't you awake yet?" And how the hell could he sleep in the first place, considering all that had happened? Quistis had spent a restless night, pacing and thinking in between quick cat naps.

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" He managed a sleepy smirk. "That means I'm awake. What brings you to my humble abode?"

Quistis sighed, shifted, tried not to think too hard about the weakness this was going to show. "I need to talk."

Irvine rubbed the side of his head, mussing his hair further, and looked vaguely understanding. "Come on. I think I've got some of that Timber Cola you like so much in the minifridge."

Really, the sight of Selphie sprawled out in Irvine's bed - taking up way too much space, wearing one of his t-shirts, and snoring fit to wake the dead - shouldn't have been a surprise. Still, Quistis was slightly startled, but that surprise cooled quickly into amusement.

"Where do you two find the time?" She asked.

"Oh, everywhere," Irvine said with a delighted smirk as he pulled open the minifridge, pushing aside a few bottles of beer and the over-sugared drinks Selphie favored before he found a can of Timber Cola and tossed it to Quistis. He walked over and nudged the sleeping Selphie with his hand that wasn't holding one of the bottles of beer. "Innit that right, Selph?"

"Library closet," Selphie muttered, and then rolled over, making her opinion of Irvine interrupting her sleep well known.

Irvine cracked open his bottle of beer and took a seat on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Quistis to take the desk chair. She gingerly brushed aside a pair of jeans and hung Irvine's coat on the back of the chair before she sat down and opened her cola, suddenly at a loss for what to say. She'd never been very good at this discussing emotions thing, though she was better at it than Squall (as if that were an achievement). She always ended up teasing or saying something sarcastic to cover what she really meant, or just grinding to a screeching, confused halt.

She was currently going for the 'screeching, confused halt' option.

Instead she looked at Irvine, hair long and tousled, exposed torso already sporting more than one nasty looking scar, nothing like the sly little boy who used to follow her around asking question after question. She wondered if he still had nightmares that woke him up screaming, if he didn't cry loud (not like Zell) but found little corners to curl up in where no one could find him, or if he'd grown out of all that. Quistis still couldn't remember leaving him behind.

And damn, now he was doing slightly questionable things with Selphie, and they could both kill a man without even blinking. Of course, Quistis could, too. All of them could. What the hell had time done to them?

"Quistis, you okay?" Irvine asked, shattering her reverie.

"Of course, I'm fine." She paused, sighed. "Relatively. Should you be drinking that this early in the morning?"

"First you're harping on me because I'm not awake and now I can't have a beer?" He asked, tone soft enough that she knew he was joking.

"You don't usually drink," she pointed out. "Well, you do, but..."

Most of the time he made an occasion of it, delighted in gathering up Quistis and Zell and making it a night on the town. Honestly, it had become something of a tradition between the three of them, when one or another was upset or too stressed out. Selphie was adamant about her alcohol-free ways and they respected that, they'd have to be insane to invite Squall, and it just seemed strange to include Rinoa, somehow. It worked out well, especially since it was, more often than not, Irvine having Selphie problems or Zell having Squall problems (no matter how many times she told the boy to 'stop having a crush on our straight, attached leader'...) that spurred the little sessions.

Irvine shrugged. "Special occasion. I'm surprised you don't want one."

Quistis made a face. "You know I don't like beer."

"Ya." Irvine nodded. "But I don't really, either. Easiest alcoholic thing to get around here, though."

Only Zell had ever developed a taste for beer, though he insisted on stealing the tacky little umbrellas from Quistis's drinks to stick in his pints.

"Drive into a tree and kill yourself," Selphie muttered.

Irvine turned his head to stick his tongue out at her, though she couldn't see it, and then turned his attention back to Quistis. "So, why are you really here at eight in the morning? I know it wasn't to write me up for having beer."

"You're not even supposed to have the fridge," she reminded him. "And as for why I'm here, it's just...everything's been a little hectic lately."

"I hadn't noticed," Irvine drawled.

"How are you holding up?" Displacing her anxiety onto someone else always seemed to work, too.

"Well, beyond the fact that complete psychopath seems hell bent on conquering the world or whatever?" He smiled. "I'm pretty good. I mean, Strife creeps me the fuck out and I've had at least three occasions of babbling like a lunatic, but it's all good."

"_Strife _creeps you out?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure," he said. "I mean, Valentine gave me the creeping willies when he first got here, but he's not so bad, and Highwind and Lockheart are about as normal as you're going to find in this place. The whole 'crazy guy mind control' thing, though? That and Squall keeps giving me orders to escort him around, and I think Strife wants to rip off my arms and beat me to death with them as punishment for me being assigned babysitter duty. And he could, too."

"But Vincent you're okay with?"

Irvine sighed and leaned forward, one hand propping up his chin as he rested his elbows on his knees, the other lazily dangling the beer bottle, brown glass catching the golden morning sunlight and throwing weird patterns onto the wall. "Quistis, we've seen some strange shit. Sure, the thing with Valentine was kinda freakish, but it didn't even blip on the 'oh my god, what the fuck'-o-meter, not after seeing time folded in on itself and Squall falling in love with someone who likes pink."

Quistis smiled at the joke, amused despite herself. "As strange, perhaps, as you making a commitment?" She nodded toward Selphie.

"Ouch. Touche." He took a swig of beer. "Ya, as strange as that, too. Things change, people change. People change into huge ass monsters with wings, GF's eat away your memories to make room for _their _wings."

"Very poetic, Irvine."

"Ya, well, great sex does that to me," he declared, and then laughed at the face Quistis made.

"Great sex my ass," Selphie added in, sounding slightly more awake and very wicked. "The girl needs to orgasm too, Irvine."

Irvine choked on the next mouthful of beer, and Quistis suspected that she came very close to dieing of laughter.


	12. Aaaand Cloud's Bugfuck

The plot is beginning to rear its ugly head; abandon hope all ye who enter here. Also, I am not being hyperbolic when I say that every single hyphen in this chapter was put in there by my beta. Evidently, I have a hyphen aversion. Love to the Eva for putting up with it!

I never thank my reviewers enough, it seems, so here's a general burst of love and affection for everyone who takes the time to write nice things (and concrit, which I live off of). You make the fanfic world go round, you do!

Koni

•••

Wandering into the Training Center to watch strange people decimate the 'local wildlife' was becoming something of an unhealthy habit for Seifer. What could he say? The outsiders seemed to be drawn toward the place, just as SeeDs were. In truth, Seifer didn't really like it, the smell was all wrong and everything reminded him of monsters and death and things he wasn't allowed to have; it was, unfortunately, the last place Leonhart would think to look for him, and thus the only place he could get some privacy. Unless, of course, he did some dip-shit thing like provoke Cloud Strife and ended up on the wrong end of what seemed to be a hair-trigger temper.

Seifer held no illusions as to the levels of stupidity he could sometimes aspire to – he just held that knowledge away from other people. So _what _if in his head he was yelling things like 'oh holy fuck we're all going to _die_', as long as other people thought he was calm, collected, and utterly arrogant. And most of the time he was, really; there was just something mildly disconcerting about glowing eyes and small frames with way too much speed and strength. Something that triggered a deep, instinctual response that consisted mainly of the urge to flee shrilling in his brain.

Then again, Seifer's 'maybe we should back away slowly' senses had always been a little addled. Case in point: evil sorceress.

In any case, it wasn't Strife cutting a swath through the Training Center today, it was Tifa, and Tifa had wormed her way into Seifer's higher estimation, which granted her some measure of worry over the fact that she was really, really pissed. Pissed in the apocalyptic way that Seifer was sure had the grats convinced, in their tiny little monster brains, that some god was kind of ticked at them. He wanted to approach her, honestly, to say something to calm her down, but he just didn't know…_how._

Seifer was well acquainted with very few easily angered women, and standard operating procedure with Fuu was 'duck and cover' – her idea of accepting comfort ran along the lines of _not _biting his head off for hugging her. Not that he got the inclination to hug her, much. Hugging just wasn't his _style_, more something for the screechy yellow one or Chicken Wuss, what with all that touchy feely crap.

It occurred to Seifer that he _really_ was a teenage male.

He didn't have long to contemplate his seemingly instinctual shortcomings before it become extremely evident that Tifa needed help. No shame in that, as most anyone would have needed help against the damn rexes popping out of the bushes like fucking jack in the boxes with teeth the length of your forearm. Fortunately, the things had something of a built in safety net, or else they'd go through SeeD cadets faster than Zell could wet himself.

"Don't freeze," he called to her, keeping his voice low enough that the pitch didn't draw the rex's attention to _him. _She tensed a little in surprise, but listened to his advice, following through with her natural motion and swinging the forward movement into a backward one. "Keep your arms at your side and go slow. If you've got an ice spell junctioned, get it ready to cast just in case."

The great thing about rexes was that they were just plain _dumb. _If you didn't present a natural threat to their 'territory' by drawing weapon or holding your ground, and if you didn't show yourself prey by fleeing outright, they just lost interest and wandered away. This one kept its eyes trained on Tifa for a minute longer as she backed slowly toward the security gate, then sniffed in complete indifference and turned to walk away.

Seifer smiled – smirked, actually, since that had become his default expression - at her as she passed through the security gate and he shut it behind her. "You don't want to fight one of those."

She glared at him, and the expression looked odd on her features. "You don't think I can?"

He snorted. "I don't think anyone can," he told her, "not alone and not if they're not your psychotic boyfriend. Rexes are tough shit."

"Cloud's not my boyfriend," she said, eyes flashing.

"Oh." _Oh. _"Is _that_ why you're on a homicidal rampage?"

"I'm not mad." She thought about this for a moment, and then corrected herself, "I shouldn't be mad."

"What happened?"

He found himself caring and that was just a little alarming.

"It's…" Tifa sighed. "Very strange."

"He's gay, isn't he?"

She stared at him for a long moment, expression caught somewhere between tears and anger…then burst out laughing. It bubbled up desperately from her as she put out a hand to cling to Seifer's shoulder, seeking support. He put a hand on the small of her back, blinking and wondering why it had been that hilarious. Finally, she wiped her eyes with her free hand, though he wasn't sure if the tears were those of joy and the hiccups the aftereffects of the laughter.

"I don't even know," she admitted. "I guess being in love with Sephiroth makes him at least a little bit?"

"In love with…" He let that sink in. "Like, as in sex with? That's fucked up…but I empathize."

"Empathize?" She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You didn't – with the sorceress?"

"No. But I kind of _wanted _to." He thought of something that might make her laugh, self-deprecating as it was. A minute ago he had decided that he _liked _the sound of Tifa's laughter. "I'm eighteen, she had boobs."

It did, in fact, set her off again.

Seifer smiled.

•••

It was too early to be awake, really, but Cloud was too jittery to sleep and needed someone to talk to. Tifa wasn't in her room, but if he was honest with himself he hadn't really been looking for her, anyway. If he gave her any time to think about what he would ask of them, any indication of what his plans actually were, she'd probably come to her senses. Emotions did lead Tifa a long way, but eventually her higher thinking kicked in. Vincent was the one he needed to find, needed to convince to support him in this. If he had Vincent (and usually by extension, Cid) backing him up, maybe he'd look a little less psychotic.

_Didn't you decide you don't care what a bunch of teenagers think? _Zack asked, sounding tired himself - as if the voices in one's head had any right to fatigue.

"Those teenagers," Cloud muttered sourly, "have the resources I need to do this."

Vincent was usually up by this time; he slept very little and even that was at the insistence of others. Cloud wasn't sure if he didn't need it because of the Mako enhancements or if it was just carry-over training from the Turks; Reno and Rude had once stayed awake for thirty-six hours helping Cloud clear out a particularly infested part of Midgar, but they'd promptly passed out on each other once in a helicopter. In any case, it wouldn't do any good to go knocking at dorm rooms and pissing off Cid.

Following Vincent's usual habits (the few of them that there were), he'd be in a place that was open and close to the outdoors, but not vulnerable or prone to student inhabitation. By process of elimination, that would be the second floor balcony. It had become a favorite smoking spot for Cid and a place for Vincent to shake off any lingering claustrophobia. When Cloud pushed the door open, Vincent was there as predicted, perched on the railing in a crouch that would have sent anyone else tumbling to their death.

"You should be sleeping," Vincent murmured softly, knowing it would reach Cloud's ears.

Cloud leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing and his chin on his palms. "I don't need to."

"It's good for your mind. You should."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, you know," Cloud told him.

Vincent smiled wryly. "Dreams are no longer the refuge they once were."

If Cloud set Vincent to brooding, Cid was going to kill him.

"Can I talk to you?" Cloud asked.

"You _are _talking to me."

Vincent's sense of humor chose the most inconvenient times to flare up. Cloud sighed and shut his eyes, blocking out the glare of the rising sun on the gentle ocean water.

"Can I talk to you about something serious?" He corrected, eyes still shut. "And you have to promise you won't bite my head off for it."

He sounded like an awkward teenager apologizing to Zack and Sephiroth for stealing the car keys.

"You honestly think you can make me that angry?" Vincent sounded amused.

Truth be told, it _was_ rather hard to piss the man off. Excepting the manifestations of the monsters, which were usually the result of intense physical pain as opposed to any emotional trigger, Vincent generally faced aggravating situations with sardonic humor. The only time Cloud had seen him _really _lose it and stay human was right before the man had emptied two clips and five shotgun rounds into a mutated evil scientist.

Cloud shrugged. "I can make you slightly annoyed."

"Then you might as well do it quickly."

_I like the way this man thinks, _Zack added.

Taking a deep breath, Cloud opened his eyes to the sunrise and outlined his plans. He knew he was talking too quickly, leaving the details too sketchy, but felt that if he paused for breath he'd lose his momentum. Common sense couldn't be allowed to catch up with him, doubts couldn't be harbored, conviction had to be absolute. He forced his voice to remain steady through the whole thing, not stuttering out or even tapering off at the end.

"I thi – I _know _it will work," he concluded.

Vincent moved before even Cloud's eyes could catch him, off the railing and yanking the younger man around to meet his eyes, hands an unshakable grip on Cloud's shoulders. Cloud was afraid of very few things and Vincent certainly wasn't one of them, but having the full focus of those old eyes was disconcerting.

"It may work," he allowed. "But are you sure you _want _it to?"

"Yes."

"Cloud." Vincent's face lost its usual apathy, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and sorrow. "I can't recommend this. I know the past has always been with you, even when you don't desire it, but chasing after it - sometimes…it is more pain than can be justified."

"If Lucrecia were alive and suffering, wouldn't you want to help?" A mistake to mention that, and a low blow besides; Cloud was somewhere beyond caring.

"I _did _try to help." Vincent's voice picked up the backdrop of Chaos's growl, and Cloud suspected he'd done it voluntarily. "Look what happened to me."

"Well, I've already got the scientific experiment thing covered!" Cloud shot back, almost angry now; he'd thought he could come here and trust Vincent, rely on him. "What else can they do to me?"

"Jenova could turn you into what Sephiroth is."

Cloud straightened to his full height and set his chin stubbornly, beginning to feel more and more like a disobedient child, with all the petulance to match. "If you had the choice to do what you did over again, you'd do it, right? If Cid was in danger and you could save him in exchange for your suffering, would you?"

A level stare. "Most people don't appreciate being manipulated, Cloud. Especially not because of love."

Cloud stood his ground. "I'm only telling the truth."

Vincent dropped his arms from Cloud's shoulders, stared at the blond for a long, tense moment. "I'll go where you lead."

"Thank you."

The dark man nodded, backed away and opened the door. His footsteps paused a moment, and he glanced over his shoulder, red eyes dark.

"And if you ever try to use Lucrecia – or Cid – as emotional blackmail _ever_ again," he said quietly, dangerously, "we're going to see how long it takes for your spleen to grow back." And then he was gone.

Cloud had discovered how to really piss off Vincent Valentine.

_And you totally win the award for most mature person on _any _planet, Mr. I Argue Like a Fourteen Year Old Girl._

"Oh, shut up," Cloud muttered to Zack. He hugged himself loosely, hoping he hadn't just harmed a friendship in his determination to yank the world back around to something resembling normal.

•••

Vincent took a few deep cleansing breaths before opening the door to his room. Cloud hadn't meant to be malicious, probably hadn't even meant to be hurtful, but his tendency to not understand the delicacy of emotions… socially awkward, Vincent suspected, didn't even begin to describe it. It was no use being angry at the boy – who wasn't actually a boy, but all of Cid's 'kid' comments were rubbing off on him.

Cloud had to do what he thought he must, and if he truly believed that this would make things right, balance a few more sins, then Vincent would follow him. It made sense, after all, to have someone along who would not follow those orders _blindly. _Not that he even suspected the SeeDs would have that problem, and Cid would be louder in his objections, besides.

Speaking of Cid; Vincent looked over at the bed and rolled his eyes, eternally amazed at how much space he could occupy at once. It was like sleeping with a cat, if cats smelled like nicotine.

"Highwind," he said, grabbing the standard issue pencil holder off of his desk. "Wake up."

Maybe a pencil holder to the forehead wasn't the most ideal or romantic way to wake someone up, but they rarely ever held with that sort of nonsense. Besides, trying to have an up close and personal with Cid Highwind before six in the morning was just begging to get something bitten.

Cid didn't even open his eyes to grab the pencil holder and fling it back at Vincent's head, aim sloppy enough that he missed his target and only hit a shoulder. "What?"

"Cloud thinks he knows a way to cure Sephiroth of Jenova, and feels he is morally obligated to do so because they were lovers."

Ah, that woke him up. Cid shot up into a sitting position, all traces of sleep gone from eyes and demeanor.

"Fucking _what the fuck_?"

Much, much louder in his objections.

•••

Squall wished his SeeDs had gathered together some semblance of dignity for this meeting. Unfortunately, dear friends or no, they all seemed to have united on a common front of 'we're exhausted, this is supposed to be our day off, and we are sick of listening to these people babble'. Irvine's sloppy braid, ripped blue jeans, and faded black t-shirt set the dress standard, and things didn't improve much from there; Squall was as close as he'd ever been to hugging Quistis, simply because she'd managed a business-like skirt and dress shirt.

Any aura of calm control they might have projected to the 'visitors' was replaced with bored contempt, and Squall could only stifle that so far. On most levels, he didn't even want to. He was thoroughly sick of Strife, sick of his allies, sick of secrets and – most of all – sick of the eternal cycle of bullshit they were so hopelessly mired in. Contempt pretty much described Squall's feelings on the matter. He wasn't even sure whey he'd agreed to let Strife talk.

Still, the sparkly purple butterfly that clipped off Irvine's braid (_hopefully _that had been stolen from Selphie and wasn't actually part of Irvine's accessory line-up) didn't exactly boldly declare 'we can handle what you throw at us'; it more or less declared 'what the fuck am I doing up this early and who the hell are you?'

Rinoa was…he didn't even know where the hell Rinoa was, and that stung. Selphie had told him that Rinoa had said to wish him good morning, but her things had been mostly gone from their shared room and he didn't even know if she'd spent the night there. Maybe it was easier this way, skirting around each other for the time being and avoiding any awkward silences, hurt feelings or general atmospheres of uneasy tension – it didn't mean he had to like it, and it didn't make keeping his mind on task any simpler.

If Strife so much as _twitched _in a crazy way, Squall had the strong suspicion he wouldn't be able to contain the urge to leap across the table and stick his gunblade in the blond. Strife being what he was, it might not kill him, but it would at least result in some extremely satisfied maiming and deter any further psychotic twitching.

Some might say Squall was becoming a little high strung; he was inclined to agree with them.

It helped that Strife's companions didn't look altogether too professional or cheerful, either. Valentine's cape and brooding expression had made reappearances, and Highwind looked about ready to murder _somebody_; Lockheart just kept casting quick, worried looks at Strife that she probably imagined nobody else noticed. Perhaps they'd just realized that their so-called leader was crazy six ways from the end of the week – not that the startling revelation would help things any.

Strife stood up, and Squall noticed with slightly malicious amusement that he obviously wasn't used to or comfortable with public speaking. Considering Squall's own shortcomings in the area (the loudspeakers broadcasted most of his Garden orders, so he wouldn't have to look at people), he noticed the constant nervous flutter of hands, the shifting of weight and the slightly nauseous expression.

"I told you about Sephiroth and Jenova," Strife began, his voice just the slightest pitch higher than usual, eyes darting. "I told you we defeated them, but I didn't go…into detail. You know we use materia for our magic, but the thing is that materia is –" He halted for a moment, stuttered around some word as he fumbled for what he wanted to say. "- I guess the simplest explanation is that it's the lifeblood of the world pressed into a magical diamond."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Zell complained, loudly. Squall glared at him and he promptly shut up.

"There was a special materia, only one of them existed." Strife's voice sounded stronger now that he had annoyance at Zell to back him up. "It was Holy. Holy is everything that is opposite to what would harm the world – Jenova and her virus, Meteor."

"Sephiroth?" Quistis asked, her head canted to the side in curiosity.

"No. Well, yes. I mean…" Strife took a sharp breath. "Kind of. Sephiroth was…was…created to be a vessel. He's filled with Jenova's cells and lifestream, but he's still human. He was born to human parents." There was a note of fierce conviction in Strife's voice that was utterly out of place. "He's only Jenova's host, and I don't think Holy would really harm him."

"You don't think?" Quistis repeated.

Strife braced his shoulders, glared across the table at the SeeDs. "It didn't try to harm me when it was summoned against Meteor, and I have a significant level of Jenova cells in my system."

They all just stared at him. The 'scientific' explanation he'd offered about Jenova, Sephiroth and mad scientists at the beginning of all of this had been one part utterly impossible and two parts bone chilling, but he'd never mentioned _himself _as part of it. It explained his connection to Sephiroth, certainly, but that was less than a comfort. They didn't just have a brainwashed maybe-flunky sitting in Garden; they had bits of _evil alien _wandering around disguised as a grumpy blond man.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Squall ground out.

Lockheart looked like she wanted to say something, and Highwind fidgeted, but they both held their peace. Either they'd agreed to let Cloud take the wheel completely, or they were so completely aggravated with him that they were letting him fend for himself out of annoyance and spite. Having seen the bond they shared, Squall inexplicably found himself hoping it was the former.

"It wasn't important," Strife snapped. "I told you what was going on, it didn't matter _why._"

"You've already crossed a line once, Strife, how do I know you aren't on their side?"

If this was all an elaborate set up, Squall was going to rip Cloud Strife limb from limb.

Snarling, Strife slammed his hands down on the table – his fists left dents in the polished metal. He looked more pissed than Squall had ever seen him, blue eyes flashing with sparks of green; it took every ounce of SeeD training not to lean away from the obvious threat, or at least draw his gun blade.

"Because spending five fucking years in screaming agony doesn't exactly endear you to the cause of it!" He'd also reached new and interesting decibel levels. "Asshole," he hissed, quite certainly not amused.

Squall heard the quiet little click of a gun's safety going off, but Valentine's hands were still folded on the table. Irvine, on the other hand, had a handgun – unusual choice, for him, far more subtle than he generally liked to be – prominently displayed, pointed at the ceiling but still a clear warning.

"Why don't we all just calm down a little?" he asked, using that soothing tone Squall recognized as Matron's We Are Not Killing Each Other Today, Children voice.

Irvine being the voice of reason was a bit disconcerting, especially since Quistis usually would have stepped in before him. It seemed, however, that he was the only one really handling the situation well – or at all.

Strife sat back down, his hands visibly trembling now; he took one look at them and shoved his fists under the table. Squall_ almost _felt bad. Honestly, he hadn't expected to hit such a nerve with Strife, had wanted to prod the man into truth, not trigger screaming. It was always good to know his social skills were alive and well, truly.

Irvine holstered his gun, but none of the tension left the room. It drifted around like a tangible thing, tensing postures and putting their minds on high alert. The SeeDs, especially, looked like someone was dripping water onto a cat. They weren't used to inviting threats in and giving them tea, they were used to _killing. _If Strife didn't have the curiously easy to trust dual nature, he'd have been dead ages ago, even without Squall's order.

Squall exhaled slowly. "I…have to think on this."


	13. Insert Dramatic Music Here

Eva and I are having hyphen wars, I swear.

Koni

•••

Squall sat in his office, brooding and waiting for Zell to come in and tell him to stop brooding. He might've been expecting Rinoa, but she'd chosen a most inconvenient time to disappear off the face of Garden – everyone _else _had seen her, but Squall was denied even the distraction of an argument with his ex-girlfriend. Not that he wanted to argue with her, but…it would be a sight more pleasant than trying to untangle this knot in his mind.

Strife was, in plain and simple terms, a lunatic. Then again, Squall had dealt with lunatics before. Hell, his own tendency to view the world through the eyes of a mercenary had gotten him labeled crazy more than a few times. The real question was whether or not Cloud was a lunatic they could trust – no, they obviously couldn't trust him. It was whether or not Cloud could be _used _to Garden's advantage and continued well-being. Sephiroth taking over the world would benefit no one, but neither could Squall see how Strife's fool's mission would help Garden.

"We take down Sephiroth," Squall murmured to himself, doodling idly on a post-it note that informed him he was due to call Laguna. "We pretend to go along with Strife's plan, but we kill Sephiroth. Strife ends up pissed and vengeful." Not something he wanted to deal with. "We kill them both…"

That would work perfectly, if Strife hadn't come along with his three companions as luggage. Five deaths wasn't beyond Squall's conscience, but he had a feeling it would upset people that he didn't feel like talking down (Laguna's moral tirades could rival Rinoa's).

He tapped his pen against his lips. "We go along with Strife's plan, and let both him and Sephiroth live if it works."

It was a bit of SeeD wisdom that sometimes the easiest way was the best. If Cloud's plan did go awry, he himself would deal with Sephiroth, taking any blame for the man's death away from Squall and Garden. That, of course, left the matter of what exactly one did with two high-powered, mentally unstable superhumans.

Maybe it _was_ time to give Laguna a call. After Squall had a talk with Strife.

•••

Rinoa had moved her things into Selphie's room; Selphie had cheerfully volunteered it, considering most of her things had migrated to Irvine's room and she slept there nine nights out of ten. Why they hadn't just made it official and moved to one of the slightly larger couple's dorms, Rinoa hadn't a clue. She'd been ecstatic to move in with Squall, even if it meant staying in Garden. Irvine and Selphie were obviously better off as a couple, and it made no sense to Rinoa that they seemed so utterly terrified of commitment.

Perhaps, she reflected as she folded a sweater to fit in her suitcase, it was a SeeD thing.

All of the little 'SeeD things' had gotten to her, wearing her down until she just couldn't take it. Suddenly the things that had seemed dreadfully romantic about Squall – his brooding nature, his fighting ability, his determination – had become tainted and twisted by what he was. It was, she'd realized with dawning horror, all about the ends for him, for everyone here in Garden. The means were absolutely justified by the happy customers, the paycheck. She couldn't even be sure anymore that he would have stepped in to save the world if he hadn't had a personal investment in the conflict with the sorceress.

She couldn't have a partner who came home stained with the blood of others, no matter how much she loved him. Rinoa wanted a normal life someday, a family, and she knew, without a doubt, that Squall was not the sort of man you settled down and started a family with. His children were here; the SeeDs, the students.

But she still loved him.

Her leaving right now was the only way either of them was going to come out of this whole, though she hated abandoning her friends in the middle of a crisis. (A small, bitter part of her noticed that they'd been leaving her out of it anyway, not thinking to include her because she wasn't One of Them in a way that would never go away.)

The knock on her door startled her abruptly out of her reverie.

"It's open," she called, expecting Selphie or Quistis, or maybe even Tifa.

Zell lingered in the open doorway, his smile softer and more hesitant than what Rinoa was used to. On the other hand, it _was _a smile, which was more than Rinoa had been receiving from him since she'd broken up with Squall. Zell had a protective streak a mile wide coupled with the complete inability to censor his feelings, so Rinoa knew how close he'd been to screaming at her.

"Hey," he greeted. "Look, Rin…"

Being that he was Zell and thus molecularly incapable of standing still for more than five minutes, he was fidgeting, shadowboxing for something invisible to kill. If she was going to be honest with herself and lay bare _all _of the problems she had with Garden, Zell sometimes sort of made her…very uneasy. It could have been that he'd taken much longer than any of the others to warm up to her, excluding Squall; Zell had taken one look at her tendency toward pink and ruffles and, yes, planning grandiose schemes in a rather off-the-cuff manner, and immediately declared her useless.

He'd muttered as much to Selphie, when he'd thought Rinoa was out of hearing range.

Still, he'd come to love her and she'd come to love him, but she knew she'd never click into Zell's world, would never be good enough or SeeD enough for him to fully accept her standing beside Squall.

He was getting his wish, subconscious as it might be.

"Hiya, Zell," she greeted, smiling at him because it was the comforting thing to do. "How's your mom?"

"She's good. I'll tell her you asked, she'll bake you cookies or somethin'." Zell scuffed his sneakers against the tile, then finally addressed the metaphorical gorilla in the room. "You going somewhere, Rin?"

"Back to Timber," she said, telling him the truth. "Somebody needs to take leadership there, and the Timber Owls are already helping with the rebuilding, so I thought I'd go see what I can do."

"Does Squall know?"

Her fingers bit into the jeans she'd picked up. Not 'why?' or even 'I'll miss you', but something that really wasn't even his business. Why couldn't her relationship ever just be her relationship? Squall was surrounded by walls of his own devising already, and his friends – their friends – had erected another barrier.

Everyone was so, so very worried about how much this was breaking Squall, but all Squall had shown her was that he _didn't care. _Of course he did – he had to – but pretending he didn't had cut her to the quick, hurt her deeply, and nobody asked 'but what about Rinoa?'

She was being selfish; she knew it and hated herself for it.

"I'm going to tell him after the ticket order goes through." She put down the jeans and turned to face him, barely having to look up to meet his eyes. "I know this is a bad time to leave, but I think it'd be worse on us if I stayed, and…"

She wanted to do the right thing, she really, _really _did.

He shrugged, the motion loose but still visibly uneasy. "You gotta do what you gotta do, right? Just remember to tell everyone, and don't let Selphie throw you some sort of wacky going away party."

"Take care of Squall for me," she managed through the tears suddenly choking her throat and burning her eyes. "He needs a lot of baby sitting."

His smile was too contained to be true. "Don't I know it."

•••

Cloud stood just inside the security gate of the Training Center, scraping grat gook off the bottom of his boots with the back of his knife. As a fashion statement he didn't particularly mind being coated with monster insides, but squishing with each step rather eliminated any element of stealth. He'd come here to relax and, surprisingly enough, it had worked. He had a plan of action, a solid way to carry out that plan, and he'd just eviscerated enough plant-bug-things to fill a grat zoo in the sky.

Doing things spur of the moment had always made Cloud uneasy, because there was too much room for error – too much room for _weakness. _Maybe everything wouldn't be perfect, but a sort of preternatural calm had settled over him, a determination that everything would be, at least, okay. Or he'd be dead, but it all came around to the same thing in the end.

_Can we just cut the dying option out of this entirely? _Zack asked.

Cloud wiped his knife on the grass struggling to grow near the chain link. "I'll try."

But given a choice between 'live, and Sephiroth destroys this world and has a happy loony kingdom' and 'die, and Sephiroth goes down with me', Cloud knew what he'd take. He'd rather have 'none of the above', of course, but good plans always came with contingency measures.

He'd proved that the deep mind-link that connected him to Sephiroth went two ways, and he was prepared to take advantage of that. Short-circuiting Sephiroth from the inside out would be messy, painful and deadly, but brutally effective and hopefully a _complete _destruction.

_I'm telling you, _Zack said stubbornly. _There is no dying option. We'd be very upset with you, young man._

"…stop sounding like my mother."

_Nice woman, your mother. Head full of common sense. Unlike _some people _I could name. Like you. You've never had any common sense. You? Created a common sense _black hole_, it was terrifying._

"You're babbling," Cloud told him, ignoring the tightness in his chest at the mention of the past.

_I'm worried about you, Spike._

"Everyone always is."

_You're easy to worry about, kid._

Cloud hated it when Zack sounded like _that_; soft and sad and regretful, like he'd somehow failed Cloud. It didn't bother Cloud, so much, when Zack treated him like he needed gentle handling. Zack had seen him at his worst, at his most helpless, and he _knew _when Cloud needed support, even from a dead man. What Cloud couldn't stand was Zack acting like that support and knowledge wasn't good enough.

_It isn't._

"Zack, you're technically not supposed to exist. I don't even know if you're not just a hallucination. You're doing more than enough."

_I let them turn you into this._

Cloud sagged against the chain-link fence, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. Zack was allowed to care, but he chose the damndest moments to get all serious, for once in his life (afterlife?).

"You've been there for me," Cloud whispered, "more than anyone else, even Sephiroth, what little I remember of that. You died for me. Zack, you were there for me when I needed you to be _me._ There's nothing more you could have done."

Nothing more he could ask for, and that was still leaving so many things left unsaid. Somehow, though, he knew Zack heard the completely silent _I'd bring you back, any way I could._

_You're a good guy, Cloud. _The soft brush of mental affection, the memory of a Zack Smile. _And don't let anyone tell you otherwise._

"Strife."

_Not even him._

Cloud cracked one eye open to peer sideways at Squall, and wondered how he'd managed to get that close without Cloud noticing. He really was getting off his game, with his world topsy-turvy like this.

"What?"

Leonhart looked agitated, as far as Leonhart's recognizable facial expressions went. Two days ago, three _hours _ago, Cloud would have been agitated right along with him, but now he was too focused (and, just perhaps, a little too tired).

"This plan of yours. Talk."

Cloud turned his full attention to Leonhart, noting for the first time how worn down the other looked. Circles smudged a telling of tiredness under his eyes, his shoulders slouched and the entirety of him looked dearly in need of a shower.

Though he was well versed in the art of being an asshole, Cloud was finding it harder and harder to act as if he just didn't care about people.

"Are you o-"

"Shut up," Leonhart cut him off, punctuating his words with an abrupt hand gesture. "Just…tell me what you need to be out of my hair. I'm sick of playing games with you."

_Somebody's in a snit_, Zack observed, almost gleefully.

And if that was the way Leonhart wanted the conversation to go, Cloud could give just as good as he got in the grumpiness and sarcasm department. This, he knew suddenly in the back of his mind, came of spending too much time around Sephiroth, who couldn't go two hours without saying something acerbic and contrary.

Cloud glared the glare he usually reserved for Reno and Rude when they were being idiots. "I'm not playing games."

"Fine. Then I'm just sick of _you._"

"Don't worry, a lot of people feel that way." Cloud sheathed his knife and stood up straight, not allowing Leonhart to push the height advantage. "I need a Summon – a guardian force, whatever you've named them – a holy spell, and your _gracious _permission to carry my sword into battle."

"Guardian Forces are a valuable resource. Why should I risk one to you?" Leonhart sounded different somehow, and Cloud realized that he was being treated not as an enemy, but as a soldier. Leonhart was being a commander, and Cloud knew how to deal with those.

Zack had told him in the first days of their friendship to treat tough superior officers like wolves; be honest, straightforward, look them in the eyes at all times, and be prepared for them to go for the throat.

"It's the only way for me to use a Holy spell. If I don't have one of your guardian forces, I can't do anything." Something annoying in Cloud urged him to salute, albeit sarcastically. "That is, if you'd like me out of your hair."

"And afterward?"

That threw Cloud for a loop. "What?"

"Afterward," Leonhart said, scowling. "After your grandiose rescue plan clicks into place, and you've saved the day. What are you going to do?"

The plan had seemed so simple at first conception. After a brief talk with a very eager-to-inform Selphie, Cloud had known enough about their summons and magic system to guess at what he needed to be able to cast Holy. Attack Sephiroth, weaken him, use Holy to cast Jenova out of his system – or fail, and use Holy and their connection to end things on a slightly more brutal note.

'Afterward' had never come into consideration at all.

"We don't know a way home," Cloud admitted.

"You can't stay here."

"I'm not asking to!" Cloud snapped. "We'll find our own way, if we have to. Anyone relying on your charity would starve to death."

"My… father is the president of Esthar, one of the more stable countries in this world."

Cloud felt rather jarred by the shift in conversation. "So?"

"I'm not leaving you unwatched," Leonhart told him. "Laguna has an irritating habit of taking in strays, and I'm sure he could find an appropriate place for you if nothing else turns up."

"You call your father by his first name?" Cloud asked, unable to stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth.

Leonhart narrowed his eyes. "It's none of your business what I call Laguna."

Quite frankly, it baffled Cloud how many people managed to develop deep-seated issues with their parents, but he'd long ago learned that it wasn't his place to comment on it. It especially wasn't his place _here, _considering he barely knew and certainly didn't like Squall Leonhart.

"The others?" Cloud prompted. "Where are they supposed to go?"

"Wherever they wish. It's not my problem."

"Then why can't I go where I want? You're going to keep tabs on me."

Leonhart didn't seem to care that Cloud had seen right through his plan. "Wouldn't you?"

Cloud was horribly bad at keeping tabs on himself, as he had a tendency to wander off without telling…himself. There was no telling where he'd end up when he wasn't paying attention.

"I see your point," he conceded.

"A guardian force, a holy spell, your sword, transportation. Nothing else. And I'm sending SeeD back up with you; you're not going to get free reign."

Leonhart would never, ever trust him.

•••

Fuujin liked very few people. Seifer, yes; Raijin, maybe – on his good days. Anyone else she tolerated or simply ignored, which had worked for her so far. All in all, though, she was not entirely sure what she was supposed to think of Tifa Lockheart. Lockheart was strong, and Fuujin respected that, but Lockheart was also emotional, caring and optimistic, which were character traits that Fuujin traditionally reacted to by kicking that person in the shin.

Not that Tifa had earned the respect that would warrant Fuujin paying enough attention to her to get something as personal as a shin-kicking. Raijin would be all wibbly and hurt if she had.

A wibbly Raijin was an annoying Raijin, so Fuujin had no intention of kicking Tifa in the shins. Today.

This wouldn't have been a problem at all if Tifa hadn't insisted on showing up and being around Seifer quite a bit, and if Seifer hadn't gotten attached to her in his usual Seifer pattern. At least this one could take care of herself, and Fuujin was fairly sure Tifa wasn't harboring any psychotic evil tendencies, so brain washing was thankfully out of the equation.

But, still – Seifer was theirsHers and Raijin's; they'd stood by him when nobody else had, when they'd been crazy to. Seifer was arrogant and stubborn and overly fond of theatrics, but damned if he wasn't _their _stubborn, arrogant, theatrical idiot. If Tifa thought she was worthy of Seifer, she was going to have to prove it: she was going to have to stand up and look past all of the annoying things that made Seifer _Seifer; _she was going to have to deal with the fact that she was handling damaged goods.

And if she couldn't - if she left Seifer hanging and hurt again - Fuujin was going to hunt her down and break her into slow, painful pieces.

"Fuu?" Raijin asked, peering at her with puppy dog eyes. "You okay? You're not eating, and that's not healthy, y'know. You can't get sick."

She didn't know if that was supposed to be a plea or a statement of absolute fact.

"Fine," she muttered.

"You're lookin' a little pale."

"Always pale," she pointed out, picking the tomatoes off of her sandwich.

"You should get some sun." He took the tomatoes from her tray and added them to his own, casting about for a salt shaker. "Vitamin D and stuff, y'know."

"I know."

"As long as you're taking care of yourself." He nodded, as if he'd just affirmed something very important to himself. "We have to take care of each other, 'cause Seifer ain't gonna be around forever, I don't think."

She cocked her head curiously. As thick as Raijin could be, he was amazingly adept at reading the signs in events and people (and occasionally weather).

"Gone?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Stand by Seifer." She slammed a hand down on the table, startling a few others in the cafeteria. "Always!"

"I know! Me too! But..but…you can't be around forever, y'know? And Seifer – I don't think – I mean, he can't stay here forever. 'Cause everyone stares at him funny and he hates that and Miss Lockheart treats him good and I don't want to leave him but I don't think he'll leave _her._" He finally inhaled again, and then ended with a meek, almost confused, "Y'know?"

And she did know.

"Support Seifer," Fuujin said. "Always. Wherever he is." She tapped Raijin on the knuckles, her version of a supportive gesture. "And us. Always us."

"Fuujin and Raijin!" He exclaimed happily, raising his glass of milk in a toast. "Together forever! Both of us'll find a pretty girl to bring to the posse!"

She ate her sandwich to hide her affectionate grin.

•••

Of all the things Vincent had been 'gifted' with, premonitions and visions had not been among them. Still, something animal in him insisted that the air had changed, the tide had shifted and the shit was about to hit the fan.

Or it could be that Cloud had been allowed to come reclaim his sword and attack materia; that was solid enough proof that things were about to take a dramatic turn – for better or for worse. The experiment, as Hojo would say, had been set in motion.

Vincent growled restlessly, and Cid sleepily dragged his fingers through dark hair in response.

"Don't give yourself a coronary, Vin."

It had always been in Vincent's nature to worry, though he'd gotten better at ignoring the deep, paranoid stirrings in his stomach. Worry had driven him to Lucrecia's aid; worry had gotten him a bullet and a new arm and monsters in his head. Hopefully, this would turn out to be a slightly more pleasant experience.

"I can't have a coronary," Vincent said. "At least not that I'm aware of."

"The sunset was red."

Vincent blinked down at Cid. "What?"

"Red sky at night, a sailor's delight." Cid grinned, slightly more awake now. "Or pilot's, I guess. Mean's tomorrow's going to be a damn good day, so don't you go fucking it up with your brooding, you got me?"

Vincent couldn't help but wonder – what if the sunrise was red, as well?


	14. Seifer's Going to Get His Arm Ripped Off

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR TYPE ANNOUNCEMENT THING: Bandages, while the last chapters are being written (yes, folks, it's almost done), is being rewritten. Which means, go back and have a looksee at the new first chapter and tell me what you think. Nothing major is being changed - the plot still remains as it ever was - but certain points in characterization have been altered, and there's just been a general shift up in writing quality since I started two years ago. This won't delay the production of new chapters, I can do that just fine on my own, so just think of it as a nifty bonus. Revised chapters will be marked as such with BIG BOLD LETTERS. I DO LOVE ME SOME OF THESE.**

Now returning to your normal font. I do apologize for the delay of this chapter. I had no excuse, other than perhaps school and my writing deciding to be stubborn. The pace should pick up after this, since the next chapters are Look, Ma! Epic! Also, there's a sequel in the works. Ya, you heard me. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Konitsu

•••

Irvine didn't understand why he felt so petulant about giving Siren up to Cloud. It wasn't as if Irvine even _liked _his Guardian Forces, and he kept them unjunctioned more often than not; he found connections like Squall and Shiva's deeply unnerving. Still, Siren had hollowed out a watery little nest in his mind, a familiar place for her to come back to. _Cloud _didn't have that comfortable place for her.

Shaking his head, Irvine locked eyes with Cloud and pressed a palm against his forehead. After a few grumpy, argumentative trills, Siren roused herself to rush out of Irvine's mind and into Cloud. Irvine remembered having her in his head for the first time, a cooling, seductive wave. Siren was considered a weaker GF, but Irvine kept her because she was subtle, insidious - a gentle, merciless killer. He hoped Cloud would appreciate her, as even Irvine – with his nearly soul-deep distaste for these forces – did.

"Don't keep her junctioned too long," Irvine said. "They have an unfortunate habit of gnawing on memories. It makes room for them in there." He tapped Cloud's temple.

Cloud flinched away from the touch, just slightly. "She'll already have more than enough room, then."

Irvine decided he didn't even want to ask. "You should be able to draw some Holy spells out of my stores. Just let Siren show you how."

It was always odd to have someone take spells directly from the mental stock; Cloud's internal presence was an unpleasant shock, harsher than Irvine had felt for a long time. He'd grown used to Selphie mucking about with his spell stock, Rinoa's gentle touch, even Zell's rash demand and yank method of obtaining more fire spells. None of his friends were like this, this twisted up, ghostly _thing _that was Cloud Strife's mind; it didn't ask, it didn't demand, it _expected _in a horrible, nearly painful way. Irvine hastily tried to shuffle the Holy spells to the forefront of his stores, Cloud's inexperience and sickly green presence making Irvine queasy.

Holy didn't want to go to Cloud, clinging to Irvine's mind with sticky white tendrils. He had to gather back the spells he didn't usually employ much – attack spells, gravira, firaga – from surging forward into Cloud, but Irvine's well-depended on support spells huddled in a nearly sentient manner, like frightened children. Irvine untangled a portion of Holy spells from double and aura, forcing their green-white glow along the mental link to Cloud and Siren.

Cloud's exit from his mind left him gagging. Trained users of Guardian Forces knew to smooth their exit from another's mind, especially when they were drawing powerful magic away with them. Cloud had no such knowledge and, it seemed, no such natural instincts.

"Are you okay?" At least he sounded worried.

"We probably should have had Zell do that," Irvine managed. "Magic knows what you are and gets used to you. I'm a support caster, and a sensitive spell like Holy didn't want to go to you. Holy more attuned to Zell probably would have been giddy about it."

Irvine decided not to mention how fractured and _ill _Cloud's mental presence had been. He didn't need that sort of weight on him, that sort of judgment. Irvine just hoped Siren came back to him without that taint clinging to her. He didn't know what he'd do if his own GF, resident of his mind, was that sticky, tempting, cloying, disgusting mess of green.

He nodded his goodbye at Cloud and went to find the nearest bathroom, overcome with the sudden violent need to vomit.

•••

Leonhart's office looked like a hurricane or a small civil war had ripped through it, with little regard for who might have to clean up afterward. Papers littered both desks – Seifer _still _couldn't believe Zell was playing office lady for Leonhart, but wasn't beyond laughing about it - and the floor in-between them, the partition between the two areas of the office long since pushed back and forgotten. The rumors that had circulated down through the ranks and into Fuu's waiting ears said that Leonhart was scrambling around with something related to Esthar and covering his ass.

Seifer personally thought that Squall was inventing busy work to keep his mind off of Rinoa's imminent departure (she'd come to say goodbye to Seifer personally, wishing him good luck in his life with that all encompassing optimism of hers) and the crisis 'his' Garden had been mixed up in. Seifer might have laughed, if he'd been a slightly less sensitive man.

Instead, he waited for Leonhart to stop scribbling out some memo or another and passed the time by Dincht-baiting.

"Hey, Secretary. Get me a cup of coffee."

Zell flipped him off. "Shove it up your ass, Almasy."

"I don't swing that way. Especially not for kinky boys."

Zell, Seifer noted, had advanced from yelping with indignant fury to scowling and almost growling. It was nearly more threatening. _Nearly. _Seifer just smirked at him.

"Almasy," Leonhart said, effectively yanking both Seifer and Zell's attention towards him. "Can you not be a monumental dick for a half a second?"

Stress was good for Squall, really loosened up his brain to mouth filter.

"But Dincht likes my monumental –"

Zell didn't let him finish that sentence. "I'm going to fucking kill you, I swear!"

In the year he'd been parted from Dincht's lovely and well-mannered company, Seifer had nearly forgotten that he could kill your eardrums. Really, it was a small blessing that Zell had finally hit puberty and his voice had settled, because if he was going to keep screaming and carrying on Seifer didn't want to hear his voice cracking every other word.

"Both of you stop it. Seifer, I didn't call you up here so you could harass Zell," Squall said.

Seifer canted his head to the side. "Really? Because I thought you could use the entertainment. It's the only thing he's good for, really."

"If you don't shut up I'm going to let him break your arm."

Since it wasn't a deadly threat, Seifer thought it prudent to believe it. Zell would probably take great joy in breaking Seifer's arm, because Zell wasn't half the high-and-mighty Mama's Boy he wanted everyone to think he was.

"What _did_ you call me up here for?" Seifer asked, settling for ignoring Dincht.

"We still have Hyperion."

Seifer had expected that one as much as he had expected Squall to stand up and throw a brick at Seifer's head. The second action would have left him about as stunned. Why the hell had they kept his gunblade around? To taunt him? Not that they could really taunt him with it if he didn't know they had it in the first place. Squall had probably reached the point where pulling Seifer's strings was the only fun he could have anymore.

Sometimes, Seifer forgot that other people weren't him.

"You're a good fighter," Squall continued, undaunted by the look on Seifer's face. "And right now I honestly don't care that you're a loose cannon."

"You're giving me Hyperion back?" Seifer asked, almost daring to hope.

Squall rubbed at his scar. Seifer wondered if he was even conscious of that nervous tic.

"I think I may need a bit of back up soon," Leonhart admitted. "Trained, competent back up, and as much as I can get. I'm not going to throw anyone else into this, and you're the closest thing to on par with my team as we're going to get."

"Damn, Leonhart. When did your ego get so big?"

Squall stared at him levelly. "Do you want Hyperion back or not?"

Seifer straightened and squared his shoulders. "Of course I do. Even if I have to save your stupid asses from whatever you get yourselves into."

"_Your _ego's always been huge," Zell grumbled behind them.

"One step out of line…"

Squall didn't need to fill in that blank. Anyone of his 'team' would be more than happy to follow his orders, even if they were 'shoot the guy who won't shut up'. They were SeeDs, after all – their lives had been spent throwing justice out of the window. Seifer could hardly remember why he'd wanted to be one so very, very badly.

"I'll play nice," Seifer promised. "A regular trained puppy. But if The Wonder Secretary over there gets in my way, I can't guarantee he won't get shot. You should employ smarter people."

Squall stood up and shoved a piece of paper at Seifer.

"Hyperion's in weapon storage. Find Irvine or Quistis and give them this, they'll get you in and get your gunblade. Now go away."

Seifer saluted Squall sarcastically and blew Zell a kiss as he walked out the door. The sound of something – hopefully expensive – crashing into a wall was all the validation he needed for that one.

•••

Tifa allowed herself a moment of guilt for sneaking around thieving things, but damned if she was going to go into this without being prepared. If Vincent had seen fit to drop by and scatter cryptic remarks about upcoming battles and defending Cloud, Tifa believed him. Fighting in the sneakers Rinoa had loaned her would be sort of counter productive, so she'd finally found a pair of fairly sturdy boots in her size. Some SeeD would find herself bootless, but Tifa had lived long enough in the slums that she didn't altogether mind taking things from people who could replace them immediately.

Kill or be killed, and thank you Midgar, Nibelheim, Shinra, Sephiroth for that life lesson.

It bothered her that Cloud hadn't come to her himself, to tell her to prepare. In fact, she got the distinct impression he was avoiding her. Probably because he knew she disagreed with him fiercely. This was true, but Tifa was also well aware that Cloud could be as stubborn as a disgruntled chocobo, and getting him to shift his opinion once his mind was set on something was an exercise in futility. She'd back him up in this battle just to see him safe, not because she agreed with what he was doing.

It was much easier to deal with Cloud when you simply got used to the fact that he very rarely listened to reason.

Tifa nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand settled on her shoulder, but she kept her fists down when she realized it was Seifer. Who looked equal parts amused and understanding about her jumpiness.

"Hey."

She returned his slightly hesitant smile. "Hey. What are you up to?"

"Being a weary and downtrodden prisoner." He sighed melodramatically, slumped his shoulders. "But at least I'm an _armed _weary, downtrodden prisoner," he added, holding up a case for her inspection.

It was simple black leather, embossed with a design she didn't recognize. It looked like one of the cases Vincent sometimes stored his more expensive guns in, but it was long enough to hold a sword. Cloud had never bothered to look into storage options for his sword, beyond 'how many can I strap to my motorcycle at any given moment'.

"Armed?" She echoed. "What is it?"

He blinked at her, and then smacked a hand to his forehead. "Of course you wouldn't recognize it. Most people here do. It's a gunblade case."

"Like Squall's?" she asked.

Seifer snorted. "Nothing like Squall's."

He knelt, placing the case on the floor. The hinges squeaked as he eased it open, but he made up for that with his careful reverence. The gunblade inside bore only a slight resemblance to Squall's shining weapon. Seifer wrapped his hand around the hilt and stood, showing off the weapon's silver sleekness. Tifa was surprised when he turned the blade toward himself and offered her the hilt – it was obvious he took great personal pride in the weapon.

Resisting the silly urge to hold her breath, Tifa took the hilt. Seifer's fingers lingered warm against hers for a moment before she was left holding the weapon on her own.

"It's so light," she said. She was no weakling by a long shot, but she'd been bracing her muscles for a bit more of a burden.

"Lighter than the models Squall uses. He thinks if you hit anything long enough it'll die –" Not from what Tifa had seen of Squall's fighting, but she wasn't one to critique old grudges. "I like things to have a little style."

She found herself laughing softly. "Ya. You look like it, too."

Seifer grinned balefully at the slightly scuffed edges of his white trench coat. "You don't appreciate it?"

"I never said that." Tifa handed him back the weapon, holding it carefully. "I'd like to see you in battle sometime."

Seifer was strong, but not lanky like Cloud or compact like Zell. Tifa could imagine how he'd look fighting – she allowed herself the mental image of him sans trench, arms bare – the intricate play of muscles and sure, powerful grace. It would be all natural, as well, all hard work and years of training. All human.

Her pleasure at that thought left her disappointed in herself. She hadn't admitted to herself before quite how fiercely she longed for _normal. _That she was finding normal in a previously magically-possessed teenager who was being held as an involuntary guest by a group of other-worldly mercenaries was not an irony that escaped her.

"Looks like you'll get the chance. I'm playing back up."

Tifa smiled. "Side by side?" she asked.

Seifer looked curiously taken aback by this. "Side by side," he agreed, and stuck his hand out to shake.

She took it in a firm grip and sealed the promise.

•••

Rinoa folded her hands in her lap and avoided looking out the train window as everything that had been her life in the past year slipped quietly away behind her. She thought of Selphie's tears, of Quistis's gentle glare, of Irvine's solemnly sworn pinky promise that they'd write each other often, of Zell's disappointment, of…well, she just thought of Squall. She thought of the way he'd blink at her in the morning, sleepy eyed and half-awake, and smile sweetly at her before he remembered he was supposed to be tough. She thought of the way he'd live off toast and air if she let him. She thought of the way his hands felt on her hips, strong and sure, his breath hot against her chest.

It would take a lot to replace a man like that. She'd never try to.

She knew she was making what Squall would call a 'tactical retreat'. She'd learned it well, first fleeing from the restricting grip of family and society, and then dodging from hiding place to hiding place with the rebels. Sometimes running away was the best thing you could do, to pick up the pieces you were dropping before the whole thing shattered entirely. The SeeDs were made for fighting – it was all some of them had ever known. They could surely win this battle without the aid of a sorceress half-trained in her powers and reluctant to use them.

Timber was trying for independence from a limping Galbadia. There were things to arrange, politically, speeches to be made, rallies to be organized, money to be made. Rinoa knew how to handle politics and how to be charming. She could do real good in Timber, she knew.

And staying at Balamb Garden wouldn't have been healthy.

Squall whispering his love against the back of her neck, like a child who was afraid to be caught at a game he shouldn't have been playing.

Rinoa squeezed her hands into tight fists and allowed herself to sob.

•••

Cloud had no idea why he'd suddenly switched babysitters, but he'd never been good at reading people. What Irvine thought of him was incidental, in any case. All that mattered was he was outside for the first time since the disaster in Balamb Town, and the fresh air was bringing as good a high as a hyper.

_It's the lifestream, _Zack said, and sounded a little less tense himself. _It always feels better in clean places._

The town was a lonely dot in the distance, Garden hovering slightly larger on the horizon. Quistis stood a little ways off, her skirt rippling in the gentle breeze and her fingers wrapped loosely around the handle of her whip. Zell was nose to nose with Cloud, leaving him to wonder if this closeness was really necessary for the magic transfer or if they just wanted to weed out anyone particularly nervous. Cloud just wanted Zell out of his personal space, _quickly._

Quistis was supposed to be the only one in attendance, but Zell had been waiting for them at the exit, looking like he dearly needed some violence. The scowl had relaxed somewhat, but he was still wound tight. Cloud wondered what interoffice politics had gotten to him, and then decided he honestly didn't care.

Zell grabbed Cloud's wrist, and initiated the magic transfer before Cloud could throw him off and halfway across the picturesque field. Brasher than Irvine, Zell practically shoved the spells into Siren's waiting arms before yanking abruptly out of the mental contact. It was a businesslike approach that Cloud could appreciate, though he suspected Zell was a bit gentler with his teammates.

_I swear this thing is staring at me._

"Play nice," Cloud whispered, as Zell backed off.

_And I'm getting the impression it doesn't blink much._

"If you get into a slap fight with the summon in my head, none of use are going to be very happy."

_I think I could win._

Cloud chuckled softly, and then pulled his focus back toward Zell, who was adjusting his gloves and pointedly not looking at Cloud.

"You felt Zell when he was giving you the spells," Quistis said, voice clear and strong. "You should be able to find that place again and use the magic."

The best way Cloud had ever been able to describe coaxing magic out of materia was asking it nicely. Some people forced it – he knew Cid did – but that drained energy so much faster. Materia was the memory of the Cetra, and it only seemed polite to seek permission to use it.

Cloud knew very well that if he sought permission from anything in his head, he would be given a very firm 'no' in return.

Siren did not want to give him the spell she'd drawn in. She'd even clicked some of them into place within herself, molding them together into her being – and, in turn, molding them with Cloud. It was a little disturbing to feel water and ice running through the core of him, lending him strength. The SeeDs probably got used to it, or maybe didn't feel it quite so strong, but Cloud didn't like it.

Instead of asking for a fire spell, he made it very clear to Siren that if she did not allow him the use of one, he'd sic Zack on her. He was a little too used to dealing with the things romping around his head.

Fire bloomed at his finger tips, sputtered a bit, and then flung itself out at the first target it found – Zell. Zell rolled under it, and water washed over the fire even as he dodged. Siren pushed another spell to Cloud's fingertips, eager for battle now that she knew she had no choice, and ice glinted in the air. Zell laughed and shattered it with a high kick, but there was a new caution in his stance.

"That's enough," Quistis interrupted. She turned toward Cloud, gaze measuring. "You picked that up fast enough."

Cloud shrugged, grasping desperately for nonchalance. "Magic likes me."

Magic _made _him, singing down through his veins. He could spell cast longer than most of the others, disregarding Vincent (and, of course, back then, Aeris), and didn't notice when he was close to burn out. This made him unfortunately prone to hurting himself, so he tried to leave the more powerful materia in the hands of others. Nanaki in particular had a way with it.

Cloud ran his fingers over the scan materia in his arm band and wondered if he would ever get to see Nanaki again. Cid, Vincent, and Tifa were good company, of course, and a solid grounding in the chaos, but he was beginning to miss the others. Barret was probably pissed beyond all natural reckoning at their disappearance, infuriated and anxious. Maybe Cloud would find something nice to bring back for Marlene – that usually calmed Barret down quickly.

Snorting, Cloud tried to imagine explaining to Squall that he wanted to go on a shopping trip so that he could buy something shiny for his adoptive niece, for the sole purpose of not being taken to task by her father for five hours.

_He wouldn't understand. He's never met Barret._

"Yuffie would just steal what I bought anyway," Cloud murmured.

_From Marlene? Nah. That girl bites._

She also kicked, and was taking a more than passing – and quite possibly more than healthy – interest in whatever firearms she could get her hands on. It was sort of cute. Which made Cloud think they all had a warped sense of what 'cute' entailed.

"I don't think we should have you casting Holy yet," Quistis continued. "It's a rare spell, and you may need all of it that Irvine gave you. Just keep Siren junctioned, and she'll take care of most of the work when the time comes."

"Those shiny rocks of yours do every damn other thing," Zell said. "I don't see why they can't cast Holy."

"Holy's not meant for us," Cloud told him, and ignored the confused look he got in return. He turned to Quistis. "What did Siren do, when Zell gave me all that magic? It feels strange."

Quistis tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "That's what junctioning is, really. A Guardian Force incorporates magic into your defense and attacks, which makes them doubly useful in battle."

Cloud frowned. "How many do you have?"

"Usually? Alexander, Carbuncle, and Pandemona."

"Quetzalcoatl, Leviathan, and Cerberus," Zell offered. "Sometimes Diablos, when Selphie is sick of dealing with him."

Cloud tried to imagine having all of magic strangeness in his head, and didn't like the sound of it. "All the time?"

"We keep 'em unjunctioned to stop them snacking on our memories, but they're always there, ya. They're just not…turned on."

"Without a human host or special containment, Guardian Forces may fade," Quistis explained. "If we removed them completely, we may lose them. They're too useful in battle to abandon just because of the side effects."

Memories were much more precious than these people seemed to think, but Cloud wasn't about to lecture them on the point. They'd learned of the consequences and come to their own decisions. Living in a world where strength was the difference between life and death, maybe keeping the Guardian Forces 'turned off' was the greatest compromise the SeeDs had been willing to make.

If there was anything Cloud understood, it was the need to be strong.

"So did we come out here to chat, or are we actually going to do something?" Zell smiled at Cloud. "I'll spar ya."

Cloud wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. "You're sure?" Careful or not, he'd never spar against Tifa. She was talented, but prone to holding back with him – _he _was the one who needed to hold back.

"Do I look unsure to you? And if you beat me, you can try to take Quisty."

It was a little odd that Quistis could manage the same barely-constrained smile that Zell had, and she coupled it with a tilt of her head that was all false innocence and vulnerability.

SeeDs were all crazy. Cloud drew his sword.


	15. Approaching Climax!

Contrary to evidence, I am not, in fact, the slowest person to update in the world. I promise. But I still love you! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and that it was worth the wait! Chapter two has also undergone a complete rewrite, and is now quite worthy of extra attention.

Koni

•••

'Someplace deserted, quiet,' they'd told Selphie, and it seemed she'd taken their instructions and ran with them. The ride in this tiny airship was going to be a few hours long, with nothing for them to do but sit and brood over what was about to happen. Cid sat in the cockpit next to Selphie, asking her questions about this and that, drilling her on the smaller aircraft she called 'her baby' and the larger one they were riding in now. If Cid didn't have blue prints of all this drawn up two hours after they got home, Cloud would eat his boots.

_After _they _got home, _Cloud told himself, examining the possibility of being left out of that group. The confusing mathematics of necessity and emotion had led him to a few painful conclusions. _When they go back without me._

If this all worked out for the best, Sephiroth could not possibly go back to Midgar, or any place else familiar. Too many people recognized him - as Shira's great general, if not as the man who had attempted to destroy the world. Spontaneous resurrection, whether or not a person had been actually, technically dead, was not an easy thing to explain. And, away from the logic and justifications, there was too much hurt lingering in every place. Each continent, each city, each town, each person had been touched, somehow, by Jenova's actions and the things she'd made Sephiroth do.

How could Cloud force him to live through that, after forcing him to live?

_They might not be able to go back, _he considered, and felt greedy.

As much as he couldn't curse Sephiroth to live among the people he'd wronged, he couldn't curse Tifa to live without Marlene or Barret, Cid to live without Shera. Vincent, who had so little, needed what anchors he'd managed to cast out for himself.

_It'll all work out, _Zack said, _somehow. You're doing a good thing here, Spike. One of the best. You're five good people for the price of one, sometimes._

_I'm selfish._

_And I'm a moogle._

"…kupo."

Irvine turned around in his seat to quirk an eyebrow up, but Cloud ignored him. They already thought he was seven kinds of crazy – making random moogle noises at the man in his head could hardly hurt his reputation now. Irvine turned back around without gaining any explanation.

Cloud looked over the rest of the passenger cabin inhabitants. Vincent lingered at the edges, near the door to the cockpit. The SeeDs lingered together, whispering amongst themselves. It was Seifer and Tifa who held his interest, tucked in the back like teenagers at a movie, whispering with their heads bent together.

_She must reaaaally like blonds._

_Shut up_.

He'd come, since his first disastrous meeting with the man, to disregard and ignore Seifer. There were bigger things to worry about than a bully desperate to prove himself. Cloud just hadn't counted on Seifer turning to Tifa for that validation, and certainly hadn't counted on it going any deeper than that. But the way she rested a casual hand on his thigh spoke of a blossoming familiarity. Tifa did not touch without affection, at least not when bones weren't being broken.

But she was a big girl, a woman more than capable of making her own decisions. Cloud had no right to deny her happiness just because he couldn't give it to her. But some childish part of him felt belligerent; Tifa, in a way, had always been _his. _His since he'd bound her to him with a foolish impulse, his since her father had beaten him for her mistake.

If she left him, separated by worlds and the pedestal she no longer placed him on, who could he fall back on?

_Try falling back on yourself, for once. _Zack sounded annoyed. _And stop it with the crazy thoughts. We're going to get your love monkey back, right?_

_That _certainly pulled Cloud out of his dark thoughts.

_Did you just call Sephiroth my 'love monkey'?_ he demanded, very careful to keep the conversation strictly mental.

_Seemed an accurate description. And I think he'd object to bitch, so._

_You think this is going to work._

If Zack had possessed a body at that point, he would have grinned ruefully and slouched down lower in his chair. _I think it _has _to, at this point. Since your dying, as we have discussed, is not an option, there is no Plan B._

_The universe isn't going to rearrange just because you're optimistic at it._

_Worked for Aeris, didn't it?_ Zack gave off the mental impression of a broad, affectionate grin. _And don't tell me you're not doing the same exact thing. Right now. This tops the list of crazy shit you've done._

Cloud turned his face to the matte steel walls, though trying to hide from Zack was an obvious exercise in futility. _Maybe._

_And I love you for it. And Aeris loves you for it. And he's going to love you for it. You won't know what to do with all the love._

Something he'd searched for his entire life – acceptance. Why was he so cautious when it was finally in his reach again?

•••

Seifer wasn't terribly big on devotion, not anymore. He kept remembering the things his urge to protect and shield had driven him to. All of his sanity shied away from an encore of that. Not that he'd ever admit to_regretting _what he'd done – never. He'd fulfilled his dream, come hell or high water, and no matter how it turned out in the end. Leonhart and his lackeys never, ever needed to know how much Seifer's guilt hurt.

Devotion in others…that was getting nearly as bad. He couldn't look at Rai and Fuu without thinking of what he'd almost done to them. His dream, his mistakes to make, but almost Gung Ho Lackeying them right to their doom ranked pretty high on the top of his list of dumb shit things. He'd tried to leave them behind; Fuu wouldn't have any of it, and Rai budged even less than that.

They could have a life, if they let themselves. What they'd done to keep Seifer close enough to alive and well was definitely overshadowed by the deeds of Seifer himself. Even if they didn't want to stay with SeeD – and he had a sneaking suspicion they liked it there, no matter what they said to appease him – Fuu knew her way in the world and Rai wasn't half as dumb as he could come across sometimes.

Fuu and Rai were potential, the future Seifer lacked.

Not that spending the rest of his life dicking around Fishermen's Horizon sounded like a_bad _prospect, he just knew it would drive his self-proclaimed sidekicks loopy. The last thing this world needed was a _bored _Fuu. Seifer was doing a lot of life re-examining, and fistfights were factoring into his desired future less and less. Fishing and peace would keep him happy for the rest of his life, after everything, but them…probably not so much.

"What are you thinking about?" Tifa asked.

And Tifa. Miss Lockheart. She of the big pretty eyes and the beautiful body and the strength to snap spines in her finely shaped hands. Seifer couldn't lie to himself and say he wasn't more than half in love with her, in the way of crowbar-to-the-temple desire. She smiled at him without reservation, and listened to him, and didn't judge, and was gentle, sure, and strong.

"I'm not even sure anymore," Seifer admitted. "My mind's kind of running itself in circles."

"They have a tendency to do that, I'm afraid." She titled her head, gave him a slightly strained smile. "Talking might help?"

Might it? He'd gotten so used to keeping his mouth _shut. _You didn't exactly go around yapping all your secrets in SeeD, unless you could gain something from it. Telling Squall – Leonhart - about his aspirations to be a Knight had been a moment of unfortunate fool headedness, brought on by arrogance and the headiness of having his rival and his goal so close.

Being an _emotionally sharing person _had never been big on Seifer's list of life goals. But, hell, Tifa had a way with the soulful looks, and maybe if no one else knew what they were talking about, she did.

"Just wondering what I'm going to do after this," he said, trying to lump his mental ramblings into something coherent. "Maybe I should go help Rinoa in Timber, but I'm done with politics. Rinoa's a sweet girl, but she still knows how to use people to get what she wants, and I'm sick and fucking tired of fighting other people's battles."

"Have you ever tried fighting your own?"

Seifer snorted, looked anywhere that wasn't Tifa. "You know how that turned out."

She put a hand on his leg, just above his knee, and bits of him took a quiet moment to appreciate just how warm her palm was, even through gloves and pants.

"That wasn't your battle," she said, decisive and firm. "And even if it was then, it isn't now. I think you know better, right?"

"That's probably up for debate."

"Have a little more self confidence."

He stared at her for a hard moment, refusing to believe that she said that in all seriousness. Finally, he smiled at her – a true, deeply amused smile that felt too long in coming.

"Well, that's one thing I've never been told before," he said. Then, without quite knowing why, he blurted, "I want to be normal. I want a job that doesn't involve killing people, and a place to go home to that isn't a hotel, and I don't want people like Leonhart looking at me like I'm social experiment gone horrifically awry."

She leaned into him, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. He could smell the clean soap scent of her hair.

"That's not too much to ask," she said. "Maybe we can work on that."

And if he saw little gears turning in Tifa Lockheart's pretty, brilliant head, he didn't say anything to stop them.

•••

Cloud stepped off the airship onto a very innocuous looking stretch of dry, scratchy shrub land. With the seasons stretching into what he could only assume was autumn, the air was cool and dry. The sun hung overhead, a far away crystal of light in a blue-gray sky.

Cloud felt very, very claustrophobic. His heart fluttered almost spasmodically in his chest, a mixture of terror and need. He feared Jenova more than he feared anything else, because she called to him so sweetly. One wrong move, one misstep, and he could very well be joining Sephiroth in the nothingness that surrounded a puppet.

_I have to do this. No matter what happens, if we die, I _have _to end this before she can make anyone else suffer._

It wasn't just about saving Sephiroth, or getting his lover back, or even about his own personal peace. Jenova wouldn't stop – probably didn't know _how _to stop – until she destroyed everything worthwhile in the world. In any world, whatever world she could tear apart and consume.

He might not particularly like Leonhart, but the SeeDs hadn't saved this world to watch it die all over again. They'd done enough, didn't have to pay for Cloud's weaknesses and mistakes. No matter what their career choices said about their maturity, no one that young deserved to have their lives ripped apart twice.

Cloud knew that much first hand.

Turning to face the group behind him, Cloud tried not to be surprised when Leonhart came to stand beside him. He wondered what sort of picture they made, a young man and a younger one, hard eyed and deadly.

Leonhart put one hand on a hip, eyed his team and Cloud's friends critically.

"Stay together," he said. "Groups of two, at least, three if you can manage. Watch your backs and be careful." He focused his attention on his SeeDs. "Don't risk your lives for this. It's a noncritical mission, at the moment."

"You don't have to be here," Cloud reminded him dully.

"And yet I am anyway," Leonhart snapped. "Do whatever it is you're doing."

Tapping into magic of any sort had gotten easier with Siren in his head. Having to communicate with her on a semi-regular basis about spells, junctioning, and how very much she wasn't allowed to gnaw on what few memories he still possessed, Cloud had become very used to sorting through his own mental space. Digging into the little dark space that housed his link with Sephiroth and stank, somehow, of the Jenova taint, was easier than it had been.

_I'm here, _he told them, sending promise with his words. _And I'm waiting. Come find me. _Please, he did not add.

"I hope this works," Cid muttered.

Cloud opened his eyes. "It will," he said. "I can feel them."

He could _feel_Jenova ripping into the Lifestream of this planet, ignoring the pained cries of the dead there. He knew, with sudden, disgusted clarity, how she created the mutants she'd been fighting them with. She forced open the tiniest well of contaminated Lifestream, and then waited for any living creature to stumble upon it. Human, cat, dragon, it didn't matter – she caught it in her sickly green threads and warped it to her needs. The only power she had left to her, and she was using it to its full advantage.

Now, as Sephiroth approached their location with all of his speed – which still gave them time to wait – Jenova tore open larger wells, very close to them. In a deserted area such as this, no humans would stumble into the traps – thank whatever gods might watch this planet for that – but monsters changed became monsters twice as dangerous.

Cloud felt it when one of those creatures finished the gruesome shift and caught his scent. He drew his sword and turned, the others taking that as a signal to ready themselves as well. Siren came alive in his mind, swirling down pathways, trailing magic in her wake. He couldn't quite bring himself to be surprised when half-melted frost crept up the blade, coating it in water and ice.

A once-wolf, rangy and fierce, appeared on the horizon, and Cloud could sense the rest of the pack not far behind. Giving the Ultima Weapon an anticipatory spin, Cloud hefted it in front of him and ran toward the creature at speeds he knew the others couldn't follow. Knew, and didn't quite care.

This was still his battle, no matter what they insisted.

•••

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Cid growled. "Just so you know."

"He thinks he's protecting us," Vincent said.

Cid shook his head. "His head's never gonna be on right. You can keep up with him. Go after him, watch his back."

Vincent almost, almost questioned the order Cid gave out so casually. He knew better than to ask who would watch Cid's back; Cid considered himself more than capable of taking care of himself, though he thought the exact opposite of everyone else. And Cid wasn't the one in the most danger here. Nodding to his partner, Vincent took off after Cloud, quickly gaining on him.

Pulling the Death Penalty from its holster, he took aim at one of the creatures lopping toward them. A bullet took the distorted wolf clean through one of its three eyes, but it kept running toward them.

"The heart!" Cloud shouted, not seeming at all surprised at his new backup. "It's their weak point."

Vincent blew open the chest of his target, and was gratified when it dropped to the ground. The others, however, took some sort of hint, and hunkered lower to obscure his line of sight to their vulnerable places. Biting back a sigh of frustration and disappointment, Vincent returned his favorite gun to its holster and turned instead to the Quicksilver he kept at his belt. He didn't particularly prefer close range battle, but he didn't balk at it.

Cloud descended upon the monsters like a god of battle, beheading one before cracking its chest messily in two with his sword. While Vincent had only briefly seen Cloud fighting with the two knives Leonhart had initially permitted, he secretly thought they suited him better than the large sword he favored. Cloud encumbered by the considerable weight of the Ultima Weapon was fast, but with the smaller weapons he nearly too quick for Vincent's eyes to follow.

A speed only Sephiroth could match.

Rolling to meet one of the wolves, Vincent delivered a strong kick to its jaw, then grabbed its muzzle with his metal hand. Jerking it upright, he pounded three bullets into its chest before breaking its neck with a jerk and tossing it aside to die. Another came at him from the side, clamped its jaws around the wrong arm. Teeth cracked on metal, and Vincent kneed it away to spin and shoot the monster launching itself at his back.

Cloud shoved his sword through the final wolf, but did not sheath the weapon.

"Dragon," he said to Vincent, and then looked over his shoulder and shouted it at the others – they were only just catching up to them.

Vincent realized, a bit distantly, that the battle couldn't have taken more than three minutes. Something dark stirred in the corners of his mind, but he shut Chaos away – at least for now. The monsters, despite being a nuisance when it came to convincing people that he was as human as he strove to be, were an asset in battle. Loathe as he was to admit it, he'd be foolish to deny their usefulness.

"Fucking great," Irvine shouted, over the enraged roar of a dragon that had quite obviously come out a little worse for the wear from its tumble into the Lifestream.

Its wings seemed unable to support its increased body mass, and it pulled itself along the ground with a painful, uneven gait that was faster than it should have been. Spines bristled all over its hide, the bases leaking bright green mako and sickly red blood. A split tongue lolled out of an open mouth, the jaw forced by the multitude of teeth to hang gaping and dripping.

"Doesn't look so bad," Zell said.

Vincent would have chastised him, or at least glared, but he was already in a defensive position, attack magic crackling around him.

The SeeDs, he reminded himself, knew what they were doing.

•••

The beasts did not like being changed. They resisted it, twisting and tearing at Mother's presence in their mind, the Lifestream in their bodies. Sephiroth cared nothing for their pain, nothing for their lives. This batch required no finesse, no deadly strength – they were a distraction, a delay tactic.

Cloud had called.

Cloud wanted this to end, and it would. But it would end in _Mother's _favor, not in the way the little-not-Soldier thought he wanted. He didn't know what was best, Mother hadn't told him, he was confused.

Sephiroth knew how much confusion hurt. Knew that Cloud did not realize they were here to _help_, to set things right, as they should be. Once, once, he had not known Mother's voice and Mother's wisdom –

And –

There had been other wisdoms.

_Lesser ones, _Mother hissed, dragging pain through his skin in warning. Sephiroth barely twitched, more than used to his punishments. Harder and harder, these days, to govern his thoughts. Thinks kept seeping in from beyond the edges, little painful memories, and he tried very, very hard to forget them but.

He would get Cloud, and Mother would have them both, and things would be _okay _and_right _again. The humans, the bugs, the unworthy, would stop interfering and he would rule over this planet as he should have ruled over the first. No one could steal his birthright. Nothing and no one.

Not even the memory of violet eyes and a ready smile, not even the twisted pain of Cloud's mind. Nothing would bring the smiling man back, and Mother could set things right. _Only _Mother could set things right. She would heal, would fix.

His feet touched down on Cloud's chosen battlefield, leather boots making no sound on the dry grass. The no-longer-a-dragon crumpled beneath the dragon-man's spear, and Sephiroth sneered at the idea of something so hideously mundane taking down one of Mother's creation, even a sick, stunted one.

They slipped into Cloud's mind like sword into sheath. The familiar dark corners and shielded light places, the missing pieces. Sephiroth knew them all, had remembered and studied them in the hours he might have, once, spent sleeping.

_Little brother,_he-she crooned, and some part of him knew, with a twist of feeling, that that wasn't the right thing to call him.

_Sephiroth,_ Cloud responded, cool and calm.

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, abandoning the half sight of the mako pathways for the physical world. Cloud walked toward him, the air around him sparking with some foreign power that tasted like ice in the back of Sephiroth's throat. The others – cowards, useless, all of them – stood behind, hands on their weapons. They knew they could do nothing, they remained behind while Cloud walked to the place where he belonged.

_This is going to hurt,_ a different voice, the violet eyed voice, said.

Cloud continued the thought with the voice, _we're sorry._

Mother shrieked angrily in his mind, tried to surge forward to bring Cloud the pain they knew he hated. Something cut her off, something large and shining and powerful, with the wings of a bird and the chilling, deadly voice of a beautiful woman.

And then the bird woman curled back, and Cloud hurtled forward, physically and along the mental paths Sephiroth traveled so deftly.

A hand clasped in his hair and lips crashed up into his at the same moment screaming white-green pain enveloped him.


	16. And That's That, Folks

OKAY. So it's been. Two years? A year and a half? More or less. I've fallen out of fanfiction, alas, but I have been kindly prodded into to posting this last chapter up for everyone. I'm not happy with it, especially not in retrospect, but you all do deserve an ending.

I have fandom to thank for a lot, including getting me into writing. This has been a great ride, and I appreciate everyone who enjoyed this. I hope this lives up to at least some of your expectations.

~ Koni

* * *

The pain sang. It ripped, it tore, it burned –

It purified.

Jenova screamed.

Somewhere, beneath the green agony, Cloud's stubborn strength, and the unyielding affection of another (Zack – how?), Sephiroth's soul stirred. Shook itself off, for the first time in years, for the first time since two deaths of his own, the countless slaughter of others, and more madness than could be borne. Twisted, choked – realized.

She was no one's Mother.

And he didn't want to know. How it had felt to be loved, to be noticed, to be the center of all the great affection one being could know – who would, who could, give that up? Who cared what She asked of him,; She was beautiful and perfect.

No.

Zack. A dead man.

Destruction isn't beauty. And it damn sure isn't love.

He didn't even know what 'love' meant, beyond Mother, beyond her Safety and her Mission and her Trust. Beyond that –

Labs.

Fighting.

War.

A friend's smile, all encompassing and all accepting, no matter how much he didn't understand.

Stubborn determination of the strongest sort, from the trooper who (on paper, always only on paper) had the least potential.

No one asking him to kill. No one asking him to be a weapon, a tool, a murderer, a General. No one treating him like messiah, pariah, god, monster. Just. Human.

Sephiroth's soul stirred.

And Jenova burned.

•••

Cloud woke up in the infirmary, but he didn't panic. He didn't like it, certainly, but without the IV and the horrible haze of memory and confusion, the terror was two steps removed. Those two steps were all he needed.

"What happened?" he asked Zack.

It did not occur to Cloud to find it odd that he could see Zack, incorporeal and flickering, but standing by Sephiroth's bedside. He stroked back silver bangs.

"Exactly what you meant to happen, as far as I can tell." Zack looked over his shoulder to smile on Cloud. "He's just gotta put himself back together."

"Help him," Cloud said. "Please."

"You know it."

Zack smiled, blurred around the edges, and disappeared. All was quiet in Cloud's head; probably not so, he guessed, in Sephiroth's. Cloud looked over at the man, whose great body was still, mako eyes closed, long silver hair braided back. Terror didn't spark, nor disgust – nor affection. Cloud remembered loving, but that was…

Gone?

Buried. And maybe for the best. Cloud needed as clear a head as he could hope for, and Sephiroth needed time without demands. Tolerance (friendship, Cloud was sure, once he had something to interact with beyond unconscious) would be enough. Love could follow after, if it was inclined.

Brisk footsteps sounded on the tile, and Cloud pushed himself into a sitting position.

"You're awake!"

It was no one Cloud could recognize, but the storm gray eyes and dark hair were an echo – or the creator of one.

"Laguna?" he guessed.

"You're a sharp kid." Laguna smiled, small laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. "Though Squall thinks I should approach you as President Loire."

Cloud snorted. "He doesn't like me much."

"He must like you at least a little bit," Laguna said. "Don't worry, he probably doesn't even notice."

"President –"

"Laguna," he said. "This is hardly Esthar, and you're certainly not one of her citizens. Yet."

"Yet?" Cloud echoed, trying not to be bowled over by the sheer goodwill Laguna radiated. He didn't trust any stranger further than he could throw them (though, considering his own strength, that was perhaps less than apt), but he didn't know how to deal with that unquestioning smile.

"Squall tells me you're both amazing fighters with extensive military experience. I'm a man of government, presented with the problem of you. I have two options, right?"

"Control," Cloud said, expression grim. "Or destroy."

"At least, that's what most would say." Laguna sat down on the end of the bed and spread his arms. "But I was a soldier once, and those options both suck."

"A SeeD?" Cloud asked.

"No. A Galbadian." Laguna laughed. "It's a long story."

"You don't want us dead. Then what do you want?"

"New ideas. New perspective. New techniques," Laguna said. "Our world is in flux. If my country, or my son, comes under fire I want to be able to protect them."

"I don't know that you won't be the one bringing others under fire," Cloud said.

Laguna shrugged. "No, you don't. Except that I promise I'm sick of war and danger. Think about the offer."

•••

Irvine lay in the bed he shared with Selphie, hat and coat thrown across the room somewhere. She sprawled on top of him, face tucked against the crook of his neck and small hands drifting under his vest to doodle nonsense shapes on his skin. Siren had come back to Irvine when Cloud was unconscious; Irvine'd picked up the man to bring him back to Ragnorak, and Siren jumped minds at the first touch of skin to skin. It seemed she was well and truly done with anything in that man's mind.

Granted, so was Irvine. Staring at the ceiling, carding a hand through Selphie's hair and trying to convince his body that it could, in fact, sleep now, he was trying to calm down his Guardian Force. Siren was angry, mostly, and just a little bit scared. It took a hell of a lot to scare a GF. Once Strife was awake he'd explain, maybe, what had happened when that cocoon of white had blocked him and psychopath (who was not, they were supposed to believe, a psychopath) from view. Whatever it was, Siren hadn't liked it one bit.

Don't you fuss, he told her. Sorry I let you go into that alone. I'll never abandon any of my ladies like that again.

She didn't answer him. They hardly ever did. But something in that empty nest space of his mind untangled.

"What do you think'll happen now?" Selphie asked, her breath tickling against his neck.

"Can't say I know," Irvine said. "Guess Squall and his dad'll figure it out, and if they need our help, they'll ask for it. We might even get some peace and quiet."

"Boo." He could almost feel her pouting. "I hate peace and quiet."

Irvine smiled. "You can plan a victory party. Force all the students come and toast to something they had no idea was happening. There could be streamers."

"I do like streamers." She stayed silent for a few moments, and then, "do you think Galbadia will pay us for taking out Sephiroth?"

Nevermind they'd had very little to do with it; no one was going to tell Galbadia that.

"There wasn't a formal contract," Irvine said, considering. "And we're not getting a red cent from the Garden, I can tell you that. But Headmaster might well sweet talk some reward money and heroic suffering compensation out of the country."

Galbadia – what was left of it, at least – couldn't really afford to be paying 'heroic suffering compensation', anymore than they could have hired a Garden to take care of the problem when it first arose. Their treasuries were bare, they depended mostly, now, on Esthar's charity to keep their country in existence. Irvine didn't take anything but pleasure in the thought of them scrambling for one more favor from Laguna.

Governments didn't know what they were doing, and Galbadia Garden had never done him any favors. He'd take money from them both, if it meant more comfort for Balamb Garden. This was his home now.

And somebody needed to fund Selphie's near compulsive use of streamers.

•••

Tifa brought Cloud dinner; just a sandwich and a bottle of juice she'd grabbed after sharing a meal with Seifer. Cloud sat cross legged on the infirmary bed, tense, but not obviously on the brink of violence toward medical staff. He had a clipboard propped on one knee, and was writing something.

Unconscious, helpless, Sephiroth lay prone in the bed beside Cloud's. With an IV in his arm and shadows under his eyes, he looked human. Looked. Hatred rose like bile, but Tifa swallowed it back. If she didn't forgive, Cloud seemed to; she'd respect that.

"Hey," she said, though he had to know she was there.

He looked up and smiled, more sincere than she'd seen in months. "Hey."

"Hungry?" she asked.

"I could eat."

She handed over his food, sat next to him on the bed. From this angle, she couldn't read his chicken scratch. Once, after the plate fell, but before Meteor, he'd written her a note that scared anddn confused her. Not the contents ("going out to restock, back before midnight"), but the handwriting; bold and clear capitals, straight and sure. Nothing like the jumbled rambling, loopy mess Cloud had used in school. Too different, even, to have evolved from it. Seeing that scrawl now - illegibility had never filled her with such warmth.

"What are you writing?"

He swallowed a bite of sandwich. "It's for Barret and Marlene. And the others, but."

"Why would you need -" her stomach knotted. "You're not coming back."

"We don't even know if you'll be able to get back," Cloud pointed out. "But...if you go, no, I'm not going with you."

"Why not?"

His eyes went to Sephiroth. "I have a responsibility for him. This means a fresh start."

"But -"

"You don't need me," Cloud interrupted. "Our world doesn't need me. Sephiroth will need me. I've been offered a job, I'll have that to do. It's a fresh start for me, too."

"You've thought this through."

What would it mean to Cloud, to never step foot in Nibelheim or Midgar again? Never see the Shin-Ra logo, or meet someone who knew the meaning of mako eyes? To live on a world not marked by fire and labs and memory in every corner?

"I have. It's not because I don't love you." He rushed through his words with the stubborn determination of his younger years. "Or the others. But." He stalled.

Tifa put a hand on his arm. "I'm glad you're thinking about yourself, too."

When was the last time he had?

•••

"Laguna's there?"

The quality of phone lines in Timber wasn't as good as most other places, but it managed. Rinoa's voice came through a bit warped, but clear enough.

"He is," Squall said.

He wasn't entirely sure why she'd called him. Probably she'd felt Cloud's strong and unconventional use of the holy spells - Rinoa was sensitive to magic, on the intrinsic level of the sorceress. Really, he shouldn't be surprised that she wanted to know how everything had worked out.

"Everyone's fine?"

"Sephiroth's unconscious, but I don't particularly care."

Rinoa's giggle sounded forced. "You wouldn't, no. I'm sure Cloud appreciates you doing this, very much."

Squall turned over in bed to face the wall. "I don't particularly care about his gratitude, either."

"Are you doing okay?" she asked.

"I'm tired," he admitted. "It's been a long day."

A long day, filled with more people and more problems than he'd had to deal with in a long time. For once, he was happy to see Laguna; his father seemed positively eager to take this problem off of Squall's hands. Squall didn't underestimate Laguna's intelligence, or his political abilities, but...he wouldn't say it was trust. He didn't, and wouldn't ever, trust Laguna.

But maybe he trusted Laguna's desire to make Squall trust him.

"You don't have anything else to do, right?"

"The Headmaster's taking care of the formal explanations," Squall said. "Zell's swearing at anyone who calls my office to ask about it."

He could almost see her smiling. "I'm glad you're being taken care of."

Even if I'm not there lingered between them.

"Thanks."

"Go to sleep, Squall."

"Fine. Good night, Rinoa."

"Good night."

I love you.

•••

Cloud slept.

He did not dream.

•••

Quistis found Vincent on the Quad, void of cloak or gun, sitting on a bench under one of the lights and reading a book. He looked normal, just as he had days ago, before a monster tore out of him and tore monsters apart. She found, somehow, that she no longer wanted to back away from him.

Instead, she sat down next to him.

"It's late to be out here reading," she said, keeping her voice soft.

He didn't look up, but his eyes paused in their scanning. "Cid's asleep."

"The library's open -" Probably where he'd gotten the book in the first place.

"I'm fine. The light is adequate."

Quistis smoothed down her skirt. "I apologize for the way I've been acting toward you, Mr. Valentine. It was uncalled for."

He didn't look at all startled, surprised, or anything really. He put a finger in his book to keep his place, and met her with steady red eyes.

"I'm used to it."

"That doesn't make it right," she said.

"Oh?"

"I'm a hired killer." She smiled ruefully. "I don't get to judge."

•••

The sun was just bringing the infirmary out of gray smudged darkness when Zack returned to Cloud, settling to his mind like a well loved memory.

He's going to be okay, he whispered into Cloud's waking mind. He may not wake up for awhile, but he'll be fine.

Relief washed over Cloud. "Thank you."

You need to get everyone outside, Zack said. Now.

"Zack -" Cloud didn't even realize he was speaking out loud. "Why?"

Zack was gone. Cloud climbed out of bed, gave up on finding his boots, and took one last long look at Sephiroth before exiting the infirmary at a job. The students had stopped even taking a second glance at him. Nor, however, did any of them want to stop and answer his question about where his companions or Squall might be.

He came to Cid and Vincent's room first. His brisk knock was answered by Cid, freshly showered and dressed, already smoking.

"Is Vincent there?" Cloud asked.

Cid shrugged. "Not all night, far as I know. He does that sometimes, ain't unusual."

"We have to get the others."

Zack fluttered in. They're leaving. And back out.

"You're leaving," Cloud echoed. He tried to look as if he hadn't just gotten that information himself.

Cid's expression was caught somewhere between stern and fond. "But you're not."

"You've been talking to Tifa."

He snorted. "Or I just discovered deductive fucking reasoning. You're not a dumb kid, you know what's up."

Cid ducked back into the room. Cloud watched from the doorway as he shrugged into his jacket, then handed Cloud Vincent's cloak and gun. Taking Venus Gospel in hand, Cid ushered Cloud out into the hall and shut the door behind him. It all had an air of graceful, stubborn finality.

"You don't mind?" Cloud asked, not sure what he wanted the answer to be.

"Of course I fucking mind." Cid stopped in the middle of the hallway, turned to look at him. "But I also trust your stupid ass to make the right decision, for once in your life. We can't hover over you forever."

"Cid -"

"Shut up, idiot."

Cid grabbed Cloud, and it was Cloud's friendship with him that kept him from pulling back when Cid yanked him into a rough hug.

"Stop calling me an idiot," Cloud muttered around the awkward moment.

"Stop being an idiot and I'll stop calling you out on it," Cid snapped. When the space between them was normal again, his look softened. "I got something for ya."

Cloud blinked. "What?"

Cid raised a hand to his head and hooked his fingers under the strap of his goggles. He pulled them off, smoothly catching the pack of cigarettes with the same hand. Tucking those into an inside pocket of his jacket, he pressed the goggles into Cloud's hands.

"I know the army has superstitions. Air force does too. Dog tags have seen death, flight jacket's seen death, but nobody's been wearing these goggles in a bad battle or a plane gone down. I figure they're worth a little bit of luck. Don't fucking waste it."

"Thank -"

Cid was going off down the hall. "Let's find the others," he barked over his shoulder.

•••

Tifa ducked into Seifer's room - he'd given her the touchpad password days ago. A sort of frantic determination burned behind her eyes, and she squared her shoulders. She looked ready to tear things apart. Or put them back together.

"We're leaving," she announced.

Seifer looked up, expression carefully smooth. Tifa read the shock and the hurt behind his eyes, though.

He turned around in his desk chair to face the door. "Bye," he said.

She walked over, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him upright. "Come with me," she said, staring up at him earnestly. "Come with me and try something new. I can give you a job and a place to sleep. I know you have friends here, and I know you love them, but. Come with me."

Easy as closing the distance between them, he was kissing her. Kissing her like she meant something, and wasn't just a pretty face attached to a fine body. Kissing her like he expected her to be aggressive, hold her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and obliged.

"I have to say goodbye to Fuujin and Raijin," he said, when they pulled apart.

"I know." She smiled at him, strong and bright. "I'll tell the others to wait as long as they can. Get your gunblade, and we'll be outside the front entrance."

She kissed him again, hard, and then left just as quickly as she'd come.

•••

Cloud pressed folded pieces of paper into Tifa's hands.

"For Barret," he reminded her.

To his surprise, after ten minutes (during which Tifa had assured they she had a good reason for waiting), Seifer strode from the front entrance and deposited himself by her side. She slipped a hand into his.

"It's a blond trading program," Cid remarked, and earned himself a smack upside the head.

"Fuujin and Raijin?" Tifa asked, her eyes on Seifer.

"They understand," he said, his voice softer than Cloud was used to. "I taught them well enough to sort themselves out."

Cloud still didn't trust, or like, Seifer at all. But if anyone could control him, he supposed it was Tifa. She let go of his hand to step forward and fold Cloud into a hug, planting a motherly kiss on his cheek.

"I hope we'll see each other again," she whispered. "Someday."

"Me too." He didn't hold out much honest hope, but a little bit never really hurt.

He'd already gotten his hug from Cid, and when Tifa stepped back he found himself staring at Vincent. He fidgeted. Vincent was a very good friend, and Cloud had a great deal of affection for him, but -

Vincent held out his good hand, and fond relief flooded through Cloud as he shook it.

"Take care of yourself," Vincent said. "And Lucrecia's son."

Cloud nodded. "I will. Take care of Cid."

"Hey!"

Hey, Spike?

What? Cloud thought back, not sure what to expect from Zack's tone.

I love you. Aeris loves you.

I love you guys, too. Why?

Bye, kid, take care of yourself.

Zack - ?!

Like a double image over the rest of the world, Cloud saw Zack step away from him. Zack turned, smiled, then reached a hand out and clasped it around a more delicate one, reaching through time and dimensions to find him. Aeris.

I belong on that world - I'm of its dead. They're going to use me as a conduit to get the others back, and I'll finally go where I'm supposed to.

With Aeris, Cloud said. Good.

"Don't do anything stupid," Zack said, grinning, and the words came out clear and audible.

And the world went white, and left Cloud behind.

•••

Barret,

You're probably swearing at me for doing this. You're probably thinking you'd kill me if you could. Sorry about that. Sorry about worrying you. And I know that I worried you more than you'll ever admit. Tell Marlene I'm sorry, too, for not

saying goodbye.

But we have to do what we have to do. You always thought that. And you wouldn't

want me to leave behind a loved one that needs me. You can all take care of each

other. Please take care of each other, so I know I don't have to worry.

Yuffie can have most of the materia I didn't bring along, but there's a box in

my bedside stand; cures, preemptive, scan, stuff like that. Give that to Marlene,

it's a good starting collection. Yuffie should be happy enough with the summon

that I left.

Tell Yuffie bye for me too, and good luck with Wutai, and that she's a better

friend than she probably realized. And Red. I think Red probably

already knows what happened by now, so you don't have to tell him much. Helps

when you can listen to the planet.

Sin Yours

I love you guys.

Cloud.


End file.
